


loopholes

by jenhyung



Series: a series of domestic events [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Drama, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 01:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12738549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenhyung/pseuds/jenhyung
Summary: Taeyong doesn’t know what Doyoung wants. They don’t talk about it, which is an undeniably bad idea. — Taeyong / Doyoung (College!AU)





	loopholes

**Author's Note:**

> 30k+ of ……. this is 100% self indulgent. i just wanted to write specific scenes and here we are…. not beta-ed…. which is bad, because this is so long i couldn’t read it after i was done with it….. warnings of terrible writing and plot and everything i just i don’t even know???? i can’t write smut this was a bad idea (fucking, fingering, blowjobs, kissing) i am really sorry actual warnings of maybe internal homophobia?? mention of blood and cuts (very very very very minimal, not at all graphic, just a super slight mention) oh my gosh im so sorry this is so terrible (also, mention of sejeong!)
> 
>  **asode time period** : year 4, october - december

Taeyong holds the takeout container close to his chest. The time on his laptop reads _2:46AM_ , but Doyoung isn’t back yet. He checks his phone again, ignoring the fact that he’s done so over five times in the last five minutes, to find no new messages awaiting him. Chewing on his bottom lip, he mindlessly stirs the half-eaten bits of fried chicken, soggy after having sat out for so long. He sits cross-legged on the floor of their living room, blanket pooled around his waist, laptop and piles of research notes spread out on the coffee table. A few more takeout containers are around, but most of them are empty, having been out since early in the evening, when Taeyong got back from the university labs.

In spite of the fact that the semester has just begun, and that they should all be buckling down from their summer highs to get their heads straight, Doyoung’s been going out a lot more lately. The film studies major was usually out of the house the moment Taeyong’s done hauling his binders and textbooks through the front door, mumbling that he was going out with a bunch of friends from his vocal club or something. He’d stay out until past one in the morning, but never past two, coming back with the smell of smoke and alcohol on him, wafting through the air when he’d make a beeline for the bathroom.

It’s better than, Taeyong thinks, when Doyoung used to bring girls home.

When Doyoung moved into Taeyong’s apartment during the first week of May, it was a steady flow of girls entering and leaving. Some weeks more than twice, some girls more than once. Taeyong had to painfully address their existence on several counts of morning afters, slinking from Doyoung’s bedroom to their shared bathroom in their underwear and one of Doyoung’s old shirts. By the fourth week, Taeyong rightfully gave up trying to brave the mornings, escaping to stay overnight in the school labs whenever Doyoung mentioned having a date the night before. He didn’t think Doyoung thought much of it, but Taeyong made sure to mask his nightly escapes as late nights covering lab work, or dates, or whatever else that came to mind when he lied through his teeth.

It’s been over six months since Doyoung’s moved in, and he’s been nothing but a pleasant roommate. Doyoung kept all of his things in his own room, kept the common areas clean, and kept to himself in general. He did laundry every Sunday, while Taeyong did his every Saturday. They shared detergent, and dryer sheets, and sometimes toothpaste, when either of them ran out. He liked to use Taeyong’s game consoles, which was fine with Taeyong, since he made sure to put everything back in place after using them. Doyoung’s usually lazing around the living room on Sunday mornings too, an early riser, sitting in front of his laptop with a bowl of cereal and his headphones plugged in, careful not to disturb Taeyong, who slept in most of the time.

There were times when they bickered too, like when Taeyong goes overboard with nagging over dirty dishes or laundry left on the couch, and Doyoung would huff, hiding out in his room to escape his incessant fussing. Their arguments never really held much substance, and they’d successfully found ways to appease the other after several weeks of living together; Taeyong kept a stack of post-it notes by the kitchen counter, and it’d become an unspoken habit of his to note his ‘sorry’s instead of verbally expressing them. He’d stick them onto Doyoung’s laptop whenever he got too high-strung, or when he did something wrong (like the time he accidentally knocked into Doyoung’s precariously stacked pile of film rolls). Doyoung, on the other hand, would specially prepare Taeyong’s favorite meals as peace offerings. He was a better cook than Taeyong was, though the boy was fine with instant ramyeon and boiled eggs, Doyoung was more equipped with knowledge on how to cook _actual_ meals. He would make Taeyong pancakes for breakfast if he forgot to wash the dishes the night before, and he’d make Taeyong chicken bibimbap for dinner if he’d crossed the line (like the time he said Taeyong was an absolute maniac for arranging the detergents in alphabetical order).

Over time, it became a comfortable way of living for Taeyong. He enjoyed having Doyoung’s presence, even in the form of tiny knick-knacks he was beginning to leave around the place. He enjoyed having Tupperwares of Doyoung’s cooking stocked up in the refrigerator, post-it note on the top, _Heat this up for fifteen minutes before eating – DY._ He enjoyed having Doyoung around, constantly documenting everything on his phone, filming for whatever social media site he was registered to. (Snapchat, Instagram, whatever. Taeyong didn’t bother keeping up.)

In retrospect, developing the biggest crush of his life on Doyoung was probably inevitable. Not with the way Taeyong was completely taken the first time they met (Youngho’s birthday party). Not with the way Taeyong never quite got Doyoung out of his mind, so when Taeil mentioned that Doyoung was looking for a place, he jumped at the chance to offer his spare bedroom. Not with the way Doyoung moved in less two weeks later, only for Taeyong to find out that the boy had dating preferences that didn’t quite include someone like Taeyong. If it were a Venn diagram, Taeyong would be a speck in a chart on another board in a different universe.

Presently, Taeyong is contemplating shrugging on a jacket and heading out to the street of bars near their place, where Doyoung always was, on a complete manhunt for his roommate to drag him home by the ear, berating him for not texting, keeping him up, worrying for his safety. Distantly, Taeyong is wondering if he should get out of the house before Doyoung comes home with another girl on his arm.

There’s scuffling on the other side of their front door, and Taeyong’s heart shakes. He didn’t want to have to deal with anything else tonight, not when he was already clad in pajamas, warm and cozy under his comforter.

“Taeyong?”

He lets out a sigh of relief. It’s just Doyoung, dressed in tight jeans and a leather jacket, looking a lot less drunk than Taeyong expected.

“Why are you still up?” Doyoung toes his shoes off, the zips on his jacket clinking together when he crouches down to align them neatly. His black shirt is loose and it has a dangerously low neckline. Taeyong blinks away when he catches sight of Doyoung’s chest.

“Work,” he mutters, eating a piece of chicken to stop himself from saying, _I was worried_.

Doyoung makes a low noise of acknowledgement, walking into the kitchen. Taeyong peers over the table to see him retrieve a bottle of water, sitting back upright when Doyoung shuts the door. He expects Doyoung to go into his room, but the boy walks quietly over to the couch behind Taeyong, groaning a little when he sinks into the leather seat.

“Long night?” Taeyong makes conversation, pulling up a random document on his laptop to make it seem like he was working.

Doyoung hums, “Something like that.” Silence passes between them, and Taeyong’s about to get up to escape into his room when Doyoung asks, “Didn’t you say you had a date tonight?”

Taeyong racks his brain, “Did I?”

“Yeah,” Doyoung knocks a knee into Taeyong’s shoulder. He looks up to glare at him, only to find Doyoung studying him closely, hands clasped around the plastic bottled water, unopened. Taeyong startles, turning before his face gives him away,

“It fell through,” he lies with practiced ease.

“Sorry to hear that.”

Taeyong fakes a laugh, but it sounds a little odd, so he stops. Doyoung knocks his knee into Taeyong again,

“Can I ask you something?”

The atmosphere changes in the second at the sincerity, the deliberation in Doyoung’s voice. Maybe it’s sixth sense, the prickling on the back of Taeyong’s neck, the fine hairs standing on his arms. Taeyong puts the takeout container onto the table, trying to subtly shake the feeling, “What?”

“How – ” Doyoung squeezes the bottle in his hands and it crinkles, sounding incredibly deafening at three in the morning. “How did you know you liked… guys?”

 _What?_ Taeyong’s answered this plenty of times, but he’s never thought to hear it from Doyoung. He clears his throat, “I just never had an interest in girls.”

Doyoung doesn’t miss a beat, “It wasn’t like you experimented in college?”

Taeyong doesn’t dare look away from his keyboard, “No.” He laughs to cover the quiver in his voice, “Why are you asking?”

His stomach drops when he feels Doyoung shift on the couch to leave the bottle on the table beside Taeyong’s takeout, leaning to rest his elbows on his knees. Doyoung smells like smoke, but Taeyong knows it’s not him, not when he took so much pride in his voice. He smells like peanuts and fried chicken too, but he doesn’t smell like alcohol.

When Doyoung stays silent for a heartbeat too long, Taeyong steels his heart to ask, “Have you?”

“No.” His voice is strained. His knee knocks into Taeyong, deliberate, “I want to.”

Taeyong stares at his hands, not really focusing. His fingers are trembling, and his stomach is churning. Taeyong can barely make out anything but a whisper,

“What are you asking?”

He turns his head slightly, eyes catching sight of Doyoung’s laced fingers, long and slender, gripped tight. Taeyong’s heart is beating so loud in his chest, he’s afraid Doyoung might hear. How long has he waited, _wanted,_ a chance at something like this? Maybe not quite under the same circumstances, but Taeyong can’t even remember a time when he _didn’t_ want Doyoung to look at him at something more than just a friend, never mind the fact that they were only flatmates.

Doyoung doesn’t answer, not even when the time on Taeyong’s laptop reads _3:41AM_ , signalling that their silence has lasted far longer than he’d thought. Was he considering the unspeakable? What did he want Taeyong to do? What did _he_ want to do?

Taeyong nearly jumps away when Doyoung drops to his knees beside him, hands curled into fists, resting on his thighs.

“Doyoung?” Taeyong breathes, and he regrets it entirely because Doyoung is _so_ close now. Closer than he’s ever been, closer than Taeyong’s ever imagined.

“Would,” Doyoung is even quieter than Taeyong. He doesn’t lift his head, “Would it be weird if I – if we…”

It’s a bad idea, a terrible idea, and the fact that he had more than just sexual desires to be with Doyoung made it an inexplicably _horrible_ idea. Taeyong can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t _refuse_. A million things could go wrong: Doyoung could realize halfway through that he is, in fact, not into boys, leaving Taeyong with a broken heart, or he could realize that he _did_ like boys, moving on from experimenting with Taeyong and onto other boys, leaving Taeyong with a broken heart, or he could realize that this was a completely disastrous idea that could cause a rift between Taeil and Youngho, leaving more than just Taeyong with a broken heart.

_But, what if?_

What if Doyoung never had the urge to experiment ever again? What if he was going to laugh it off and retreat into his room like he always did, completely forgetting about it in the morning? What if this was the only chance Taeyong would ever have?

It’s a horrifying idea, an opportunity, that could slip through Taeyong’s fingers, depending on his reaction in the next sixty seconds.

His hand is shaky when he pulls it from under the converter, gingerly resting over Doyoung’s.

Were they cold because it’s nearly four in the morning? Four in the morning when there are no cars passing on the street, no souls walking the pavements. Four in the morning when it seemed like no one else was awake, when it seemed like nothing else mattered, when it seemed like all actions held no repercussions. Four in the morning when Taeyong curves a finger to tilt Doyoung’s chin up, looking the boy straight in the eye.

Doyoung’s pupils are blown, staring into Taeyong’s with shock and curiosity. Taeyong holds his breath. He doesn’t want to taint the moment, doesn’t want to do anything that might send Doyoung flying out the door. _Oh,_ but his lips are tingling from the mere thought of pressing it to Doyoung’s thinner ones, looking even softer from such a meager distance. Out of everything, Taeyong knows he wants to kiss Doyoung the most, wants to feel them under his own. He wanted to hold hands with Doyoung, go on dates with Doyoung, but none of that could beat the desire of kissing him. There needn’t be tongue and teeth, just a simple kiss would be more than sufficient. Taeyong wanted to kiss Doyoung bad, but he wanted it to be because Doyoung liked him back, not because of some deal that’s been conjured,

“No kissing,” he decides aloud.

Doyoung blinks twice, voice hoarse, “What?”

“If you want to, y’know,” Taeyong lets his hand drop from Doyoung’s chin, suddenly aware that he was already starting to lean in. “ _Experiment_ ,” he says with as little spite, “No kissing. On the lips.”

Doyoung’s eyes grow wide, “Are you saying – ”

“It’s just sex,” Taeyong shrugs, ignoring the way his brain is shrieking at him to shut _up_. “I mean, if you even want to go that far.”

It’s another five minutes before Doyoung’s speaking again. He inches closer, until his knees hit Taeyong’s hips over the comforter, “Does it mean I can kiss you anywhere else?”

Taeyong stops the shiver threatening to roll up his spine. Knowing Doyoung’s face would be too close, he leans away before turning to look down at him, “Like where?”

Doyoung’s lips part into a tiny _o._ Taeyong thinks the boy’s frozen into stone, but Doyoung lifts his index finger, and Taeyong eyes it warily, breath catching at – _He’s going to touch me_.

“Here?” Doyoung rests a finger against the underside of Taeyong’s jaw, but he’s eyes don’t leave his face. Taeyong tries not to flip out and run, body already reacting to a simple touch. His toes curl, and he clamps his mouth shut, not trusting his own self-restraint. Doyoung studies him, gently grazing a finger down Taeyong’s neck, painfully slow, until he’s caressing the sharp lines of his collarbone. “C – can I kiss you here?”

Taeyong’s heart is going to stop working, it could probably make a giant hole in his chest if he didn’t calm it down. He’s starting to sweat under the covers. Stiff, he nods jerkily. At that, Doyoung curls a hand around the back of Taeyong’s neck, thumb rubbing the soft skin behind his ear. Taeyong watches hungrily as Doyoung wets his lips, going straight for it without much more hesitation.

The first kiss is _electric_. Taeyong flinches at the shock, and then he inhales sharply at the relief. _Finally._

Doyoung jerks away instantly.

“Sorry, is it – ” Taeyong wants to kiss him, oh, how _badly_ he wanted to kiss him, but he wasn’t about to break the only rule he’s set so far, the only rule that might save him from an even deeper heartbreak. Grabbing him by the shoulders, Taeyong licks his lips, giving Doyoung a pointed look, asking for permission. Doyoung seems taken aback by his forwardness, but Taeyong doesn’t care, not at four in the morning when actions have no consequences. Doyoung nods eagerly, and Taeyong tackles him to ground, latching his lips onto Doyoung’s neck. He straddles Doyoung through the blanket, but the friction is still there.

Doyoung groans, and the heat in Taeyong’s gut flares. “Tell me,” Taeyong says between kisses. “If it’s too much, I’ll stop.”

The hold on Doyoung has on Taeyong’s neck tightens, and he rasps, “I don’t want you to stop.”

Taeyong’s hands are on Doyoung’s waist immediately, seductively edging at the borders of his jeans, “Okay.”

Doyoung kicks the blanket away from under Taeyong, and the cool air hits his sweaty thighs, making him sigh in relief into Doyoung’s neck. Doyoung’s half hard in his jeans, and that’s a good sign; he wasn’t losing interest. Taeyong keeps kissing, and sucking, but he doesn’t leave marks, sure that Doyoung wanted to keep this under wraps. Doyoung’s hands are braver now, moving down Taeyong’s back, itching at the hem of his shirt. Usually, Taeyong would be eager to take his shirt off, let his lover run their hands over him, but he didn’t know if that was what Doyoung wanted, didn’t know if he would be okay with lack thereof on his chest.

He nearly buckles when Doyoung whispers, lifting his shirt slowly, “Can I?”

Taeyong pulls away from working Doyoung’s neck to let Doyoung help tug his shirt upward and off his body. The way Doyoung rakes his eyes perversely over his chest makes Taeyong want to grab his shirt and put it back on, incredibly self-conscious. But the way his mouth is hanging open gives Taeyong the confidence to say,

“You can kiss me here too.”

Doyoung inhales sharply, looking like he’s just been surprised with winning the lottery. He scrambles to prop himself up onto his elbows, still marveling over Taeyong.

Encouraged, he preens under Doyoung’s scrutiny, sitting up to tilt his body back just a little, showing off his flat torso and smooth skin (thank you, Lush). Doyoung tries to shrug his own jacket off, but he’s too flustered, so Taeyong lets a laugh slip through his lips, scooting forward to help him out of it. He stops laughing when Doyoung sends his own shirt flying over Taeyong’s head, landing somewhere behind them. Doyoung’s chest is _hard_ , and it must be from all the time he’s spent at the gym with Youngho. Taeyong runs a finger down Doyoung’s chest, satisfying the long-awaited desire to touch him, have him under his hands. He’s distracted by the faint lines down Doyoung’s torso, the muscles tensing.

Doyoung breathes shakily when Taeyong teases the edge of his jeans, thumbing the button, “C – can we do more?”

Taeyong unfastens Doyoung’s jeans, but freezes when the ball is thrown into his court. He counters, “What do you want me to do?”

Doyoung stuns at the question. Taeyong thinks he’s done scared him off, but Doyoung sits up so quick, he nearly falls off Doyoung’s lap. His arms shoot out on reflex, but Doyoung catches him by the shoulders, holding him up. Taeyong presses his arms close to his chest, waiting for Doyoung to make the next move. Doyoung looks at his lips, dipping down to kiss his clavicle. He whispers against the ridge, “More.”

It’s ambiguous, but Taeyong gets it. He lets out a shuddery breath, “My room?”

Doyoung stills, then he kisses him again, “Okay.”

He tells Doyoung to wait on his bed while he cleans up. Taeyong didn’t think he’d be doing _anything_ tonight, definitely not when he’s been flying solo ever since he’s set eyes on Doyoung at the party. It takes a little longer than usual, having been so out of practice for so long. There’s a blimp of worry nudging the back of Taeyong’s mind, but it dissipates when he peers into his room to find Doyoung already looking at him, as if he spent the entire time staring at the door, waiting for Taeyong to get back. He’d shed his jeans, neatly folded, left on the edge of Taeyong’s chest of drawers. Taeyong expected Doyoung to be on his phone, like he always was, or lying in bed, but Doyoung looked almost… _nervous._

He berates himself internally, of _course_ he was nervous, it was his first time, technically.

Taeyong slips into the room, shutting the door softly. It didn’t feel like his room anymore, not even with his notice boards full of deadlines or his towel hanging off the back of his desk chair. It didn’t feel like anything. Taeyong was having a hard time comprehending his surroundings, mind solely focused on Doyoung sitting on the bed, back ramrod straight, _waiting_ for him.

Carefully, he slides back into Doyoung’s lap, legs cold against Doyoung’s warm ones.

“Did you – you, er,” Doyoung tilts his head back to stare at Taeyong. “Are you – ”

“I’m clean,” Taeyong saves him, looking like he was about to get a heart attack trying to get the question out. “Did you… Did you want to bottom?”

Doyoung seems to _really_ consider it, but he shakes his head, “No.”

Taeyong breathes, “Okay.”

He presses a kiss to the side of Doyoung’s throat, and Doyoung’s hands are back on his waist. It’s a little odd, not being able to kiss during sex, making it sort of a challenge for him to work on just neck and under. Taeyong scolds himself, knowing it would be a little easier to get things _going_ if he could lick Doyoung’s mouth open, but he knows it’s probably best if he kept it otherwise. If anything, Doyoung still responds well, hands starting to roam Taeyong’s chest and back, down his thighs, up his calves. Though, nowhere near his crotch, which was fine with Taeyong. He’ll take whatever he can get.

Pushing with his weight, he guides Doyoung down onto the bed, starting to travel further downwards, yearning to find Doyoung’s sensitive spots before he loses his arousal.

Taeyong’s lips softly hovers over a nipple, and Doyoung twitches. Piqued, Taeyong takes it in his mouth, flicking his tongue over the bud. Taeyong’s dick throbs at the sound of Doyoung moaning under his lips, back arching off the bed. Excited, he plays around, taking the other in his free hand, pulling whines and whimpers from Doyoung, high-pitched and needy. He’d thought about this before, about how Doyoung would sound, about how high his voice would go. Doyoung bucks up when Taeyong grazes his teeth, testing waters. He tugs on Taeyong’s hair, and Taeyong moans against his chest. Doyoung tugs again, rutting against Taeyong. He freezes when their dicks slide together, still clothed beneath Doyoung’s boxers and Taeyong’s briefs.

Was Doyoung having second thoughts?

Taeyong moves off Doyoung’s chest to look him in the eyes; wide, expression in complete petrification. He shifts to get off Doyoung, apologize, and brush everything off his shoulders (maybe cry in the bathroom for a while) when Doyoung’s hands fly back to grab him by the hips, stilling him. Doyoung licks his lips nervously, breathing heightened. Taeyong splays his hands across Doyoung’s chest, and he moves again, brushing their crotches together. Doyoung shuts his eyes this time, biting on his lip to suppress a groan.

Still unsure, Taeyong murmurs, “Do you… do you still want more?”

Doyoung nods jerkily, brows furrowing. He doesn’t open his eyes, so Taeyong braces himself forward, grinding back onto Doyoung once, and Doyoung exhales loudly. Spurred, Taeyong leans down, and the slide of skin on skin is smooth and _hot_. He ruts against Doyoung slowly, dragging it out, making sure his dick is pushed hard against Doyoung’s. Doyoung moans, loud and free, hands tight on Taeyong’s hips, moving along obediently. He nudges a little harder, pushes Taeyong down a little harder, want hard and obvious. Taeyong speeds up, burrowing his face into Doyoung’s neck, starting to pant at the friction.

“More,” Doyoung groans, hands inching down to squeeze Taeyong’s ass. Taeyong squeaks, hips slamming down and then up into Doyoung’s hands. “I want more of you.”

It sounds so incredibly intimate, and it makes his heart swell. Taeyong lets himself believe it means more than just sex for only a moment, then he’s nodding quickly, getting off Doyoung’s chest to reach for the lube and a condom from his bedside drawer. He inches down Doyoung’s body, already missing the feeling of Doyoung’s hands on his ass. Thumbing the waistband of Doyoung’s boxers,

“Are you sure?”

A question that he didn’t want to ask, but it leaves his lips anyway.

Doyoung circles his hand around Taeyong’s wrist. He opens his mouth to say something, then he closes it, and it happens another several times before he settles with, “I’m sure.”

Taeyong tugs the boxers down to Doyoung’s ankles immediately, and his own cock twitches appreciatively at the sight of Doyoung, half hard, and a little bigger than he was, and _pretty_. He touches it, lips shut tight lest he says something he doesn’t mean to say, and Doyoung shivers under him. Doyoung’s looking at him from the head of the bed, staring at Taeyong touching him, and maybe he’s thinking that Taeyong’s a being too… affectionate.

Uncapping the lube, he squeezes enough onto his hand. He rubs his hands together to warm it up, exhaling loudly when it registers that he was finally getting to touch Doyoung. It’s hot, and Doyoung squirms, letting out a choked sob when Taeyong starts to stroke him hard with both hands, tightening and loosening his grip to tease him. Doyoung drives his hands into the bedsheets, and Taeyong briefly wishes they were in his hair instead. He quickens when he feels himself get hard too, unable to deny the crave of wanting Doyoung inside him, and wanting it _now_. Taeyong lets go to get out of his own underwear. He didn’t want to look at Doyoung’s reaction, seeing another man’s dick for the first time (in a situation like this), so he busies himself with the condom. It’s a little bit of a task with slippery hands, so he uses his teeth to rip the foil. Doyoung groans loudly, and Taeyong looks up to grin at him, trying to take his mind off other things. He helps Doyoung roll the condom on, and Doyoung watches, probably too stunned to be doing anything, hands still tangled in the sheets.

Hurriedly, he coats his fingers with more lube, and Doyoung hips buck up again when his hand is back on Doyoung’s cock, another hand slipping behind him to play with his own entrance. He sticks a finger in, urgently trying to get himself ready because Doyoung is writhing under him, waiting and looking on with a look that might’ve crossed _I want you_ and _What do I do?_

The second finger is easier to take, and Taeyong closes his eyes, letting his head hang forward, hands still working Doyoung and himself relentlessly.

“Ready,” he mutters mostly to himself, when he’s feeling stretched out enough. He stops all administrations immediately, and Doyoung moans at the loss of contact. On his knees, he shuffles forward, enough to line Doyoung’s dick to his ass, not too forward to overwhelm Doyoung with his own.

“Oh my god,” Doyoung’s hands _finally_ leave the sheets, holding onto Taeyong’s bicep, the other back on his hip. Taeyong’s a little wobbly, so he leans into Doyoung’s hold, purely for stabilization’s sake. Taeyong holds Doyoung’s dick against his entrance, rubbing against himself for a moment more, taking it leisurely. He steadies himself, holding onto Doyoung’s knee with his free hand, pushing himself down into Doyoung, crying out when the head breaches. Doyoung is definitely more than two of Taeyong’s fingers, and he really should’ve prepped more, but he couldn’t care less, not when Doyoung’s heaving under him, clearly exhilarated. He rations his breath, gripping Doyoung’s knee tighter, trying to get himself together.

“ – usually like?”

Taeyong doesn’t hear the question, too preoccupied with everything going on in the lower half of his body. He’s not really in a state to talk, not with Doyoung’s dick only partially in him, so he doesn’t answer, doesn’t even acknowledge the question, focused on inching down. Taeyong rushes, too eager to have Doyoung in him, and he only stops when he reaches the hilt, tight and _full_. He’s tuned out everything on the ride down, pain shooting up his back that was sure to leave him sore in the morning. Taking deep breaths, he accommodates slowly. What did Doyoung say? What did boys usually like?

“They – ” he rasps. Doyoung rubs his thumb against his hipbone and he momentarily forgets the answer. “Everyone likes different, _ah_ , things, I – ”

Doyoung _moves_ , and Taeyong yelps, eyes flying open to glare at him, digging his nails into Doyoung’s knee. He winces, “Sorry.” He takes such a deep breath that his dick shifts in Taeyong, “I – w – what are you saying?”

Taeyong closes his eyes again when he’s sure Doyoung isn’t going to move, “Didn’t you,” he takes a deep breath, part confused, part annoyed. Who has _conversations_ balls deep into someone else? “You wanted to ask what boys liked?”

Doyoung doesn’t respond. Taeyong thinks he didn’t answer aloud, but he ignores it, starting to get used to Doyoung in him. He opens his eyes when he’s ready, but Doyoung’s looking up at him, unblinking,

“No,” he says softly. “I asked what do _you_ like.”

Taeyong nearly cries. He doesn’t know how to answer, doesn’t know how much he can trust his voice not to give way and breakdown because he has Doyoung so _close_ now, the cloud is starting to part. Instead of giving himself away, he starts to move against Doyoung, in an attempt to distract him – it works. Doyoung groans, strangled and lustful. He doesn’t move, thankfully, and Taeyong sets the pace, slow, lifting himself up and then down slowly. He speeds up in tiny increments, until he’s comfortable and the pain transcends to pleasure. Completely lost in how he’s feeling, he doesn’t notice that Doyoung’s gone silent under him, watching him with a dazed look on his face.

“I need you to,” Taeyong huffs, but he doesn’t slow down, he can’t when Doyoung’s so painfully hard in him. “I need you to, oh _god_ , I – ” His thighs are screaming. From the emotional drainage to the physical prepping for _both_ of them, Taeyong is on the verge of passing out, “I can’t – ”

“Can I move?” Doyoung’s voice is clear as day, and it frightens Taeyong a little. He cracks an eye open to assess the situation, but Doyoung looks even more afraid than before.

_What?_

“Stop looking like – ” Taeyong blinks hard, opening his eyes to stare down at Doyoung, still slamming himself down onto him. It makes him want to stop, but it didn’t make sense for Doyoung to still be so tense in him, “Why – why do you – are you scared?”

Doyoung swallows visibly, “I – I don’t want to hurt you.”

Taeyong laughs shakily, ignoring the way his eyes seemed to prickle, “It d – doesn’t. I need you to move,” he moans loudly. “I can’t keep up, I – it’s – ”

Doyoung moves at that, and Taeyong halts momentarily while Doyoung gets his knees under him, pulling Taeyong up onto his lap. Taeyong relaxes for a second, and he doesn’t expect it when Doyoung leans in to kiss him on the neck, licking up to his jaw. Taeyong leans away quickly, wary of Doyoung’s lips being so close to his own. He wraps his arms around Doyoung’s neck, hooking his chin over his shoulder, hiding his face away. He moves his hips down to signal,

“I’m ready.”

Doyoung takes it, and he fucks hard and fast. Taeyong plants his foot onto the bed behind Doyoung, gripping his own elbows as Doyoung thrusts into him, breathing harshly into his ear, _yes, yes, yes_. Doyoung holds Taeyong up by the hips, and he leans forward, starting to tip them over. Taeyong clings onto Doyoung for dear life, too lost in everything to do anything more than just moan at how _good_ it feels. Doyoung’s hands are on his ass again, squeezing harder this time, kneading the flesh as he fucks up into Taeyong.

“I – _Taeyong_ , I – ”

The sound of his name on Doyoung’s lips, moaned and lusted after, was _delicious_. He slams into Doyoung, on fire after hearing it said like that for the first time, from Doyoung for the first time. Surprised, Doyoung tips backwards, and Taeyong pins him down, digging his knees into the bed. He fucks himself onto Doyoung, crying aloud when Doyoung presses his fingers hard into his ass cheeks, rousing the urge to crank it up a notch.

Doyoung comes first, biting into a hand to muffle his shouts, and Taeyong sits back hard, letting Doyoung fill him up to the hilt. It’s warm inside him, and Doyoung’s hips still buck up, trying to ride through his orgasm. Taeyong’s close too, and it only takes him several thrusts to come on his own. Quick on his feet, he catches his load before it lands on Doyoung, afraid it might bother the other. He slows down, but he keeps going until he’s completely milked through. Lifting himself off Doyoung, he moans quietly when Doyoung’s completely out of him, disliking the way it felt empty.

They stay like that for a while, coming down from their highs, breathing and heartbeats starting to return to normal. It’s a little quick, how fast the atmosphere breaks.

“I – that – ” Doyoung gulps. He eyes the come in Taeyong’s hands, making Taeyong clamber off the bed immediately. Doyoung catches him by the elbow before he can get far, “Let me help you clean up.”

Aftercare is one of the things Taeyong liked about sex, and aftercare from Doyoung would just be the cherry on top, cuddling and slow kisses. But he didn’t want it tonight, he didn’t want it like _this_ , and he had no one else to blame, because he agreed to it, and it was _good._

It made it worse that he wanted to do it again.

“It’s okay,” he shrugs nonchalantly, trying his best to play it off. “I can get to it on my own.”

And he leaves to the bathroom before Doyoung can stop him. His back and ass are sore, and his thighs are positively shivering, but he still steps into the shower anyway, cranking the water hot, watching the water (and come) slip into the drain. It’s only water from the shower rolling down his face, he tells himself.

Not wanting to go back into his room after, he trails back into the living room slowly, thankful that his comforter is out there. Doyoung’s shirt and jacket pooled on the floor makes his heart twinge, but he ignores it, body too drained to be dealing with his overthinking self. He pulls the comforter over him, huddling to sleep on the couch.

It’s five in the morning, a different kind of emptiness now.

 

Taeyong wakes up feeling detached from reality. The leather under him is sticking to his legs. Disoriented, he checks the time on his phone, _1:24PM_. He ducks back under the comforter, upset he’s slept in so late when he could’ve been up finishing some of his work from last night, not having to –

 _Last night_.

He bolts upright, regretting in the next instant because a sharp pain shoots up his back, and his ass is on whole new levels of sore. Groaning, he tries to lie back down, but he notices someone watching him from the kitchen – Doyoung. He stands with a spatula in one hand, the other hand between his lips, nervously biting on his nails. Taeyong doesn’t move from his spot on the couch, and neither does Doyoung from his at the kitchen. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what Doyoung’s thinking.

“Good morning,” he tries.

Doyoung seems to relax a little at that, hand dropping from his lips, “It’s afternoon, actually.”

It’s awkward, actually. “Yeah,” Taeyong looks at the ground.

Doyoung shuffles back into the kitchen, and Taeyong sighs in relief. He struggles to bring his legs over the edge of the couch, sitting upright now. Picking his phone back up, he sends a quick message before Doyoung can reemerge,

 

11OCT [13:26] **taeyong** : need to meet you asap  
11OCT [13:26] **taeyong** : without youngho

 

“Hey.”

Taeyong fumbles to lock his phone, looking up to see Doyoung smiling gently at him. He has a plate of pancakes in one hand, and a bottle of syrup in another. Taeyong takes it, murmuring his thanks. Doyoung uncaps the syrup, handing it to Taeyong. It feels a little much, having Doyoung watch his every move, but he shoves it out of his mind, treating himself with more than his usual dose of pancake syrup.

When he hands the bottle back to Doyoung, the boy comments, “That’s a lot of sugar.”

“I need it,” he says under his breath. Taeyong expects Doyoung to walk away, but he sinks onto the couch beside Taeyong, holding the bottle in both his hands. His knees knock into Taeyong’s and the plate in Taeyong’s lap wobbles precariously. Taeyong’s cheeks start to warm up under the attention, but he doesn’t say anything, using the fork to cut up pieces of pancakes. It has bits of chocolate chips and banana, his favourite.

After a moment of watching Taeyong eat, Doyoung breaks the silence with,

“Can I ask you something?”

Taeyong nearly chokes, but he composes himself, eyes still downcast. How was he supposed to look at Doyoung after last night? Maybe he’s realized it _was_ a horrible idea, and that Doyoung was going to tell him that he was going to move out, and that the pancakes were an apology for –

“Can we…” Doyoung picks at the label. “Last night, we – I – can we do it again?”

Taeyong does choke this time, and Doyoung rushes off the couch to fetch him some water. He thunks the plate loudly against the coffee table (last night’s takeout containers have already been cleared, he notes). Barely awake, his mind doesn’t start working quick enough, and he’s still coughing when Doyoung returns with an opened bottle of water. Without looking at him, Taeyong takes it gratefully, pressing it to his lips. Doyoung sits back down next to him, hands empty now. He takes several mouthfuls. He doesn’t let himself think about how Doyoung’s eyes have never left him.

“Last night, I – ”

“Did you like it?” Taeyong doesn’t dare hear the answer, but he needs to _know_.

Doyoung scoots closer for after a moment of thought, and he holds out a hand for the bottle, “I did.” It sounds sheepish, and Taeyong’s head is too full of relief to even think about anything else. He hands Doyoung the bottle, and Doyoung takes it, but instead of letting Taeyong drop his hands, Doyoung grabs it. His hand is clammy.

Taeyong’s brain starts to work. Did he want to experiment more then? What did Doyoung want to do? Should they talk about it? Are they _exclusive_? He pauses at that. No way was he going to let Doyoung have him at night and then go off gallivanting in the day with some other person on his arm.

“You need to get tested,” Taeyong looks at their hands. Doyoung’s holding onto him so tenderly, it makes his neck grow hot. “If you want to keep this up, I mean.”

Doyoung looks at him blankly, and then it’s clear on his face when he understands that Taeyong is agreeing, “Okay.”

Taeyong thinks their hands look good clasped together, “I’m clean, so… It’s only fair if you are too, if you want to,” his voice is starting to fail him at the thought of Doyoung under him again. “You know.”

Doyoung squeezes his hand once, and his heart feels the pressure, “I want to. I’ll go today.”

At the self-satisfying idea of Doyoung being just as excited as he was, Taeyong’s breath is stolen in one swift swoop. He doesn’t eat the rest of his pancake, he can’t because Doyoung’s hand is still around his, and really, there’s about nothing he can do when Doyoung’s eyes keep searching his face.

“Can I ask you something else?”

Taeyong laughs, too high and too inelegant, “You’re asking a lot of things lately.”

“Oh.”

When Doyoung takes it as rejection, Taeyong braves the consequences, “What is it?”

Doyoung takes his hand onto his lap, suddenly extremely interested in their cuticles, “How – how many people have you been with? Like that?”

Taeyong’s soul leaves his body, “Are you asking me for my number?”

Doyoung pinches Taeyong’s fingers, voice low and maybe embarrassed, “Yes.”

He contemplates asking _why_ Doyoung wanted to know, but he’s afraid the answer might be too nonchalant, so he answers, “Four.” A boyfriend from high school, and three in college.

Doyoung doesn’t say anything about that, “Two.” When Taeyong looks at him in disbelief, he amends, “That were serious.”

“Both girls?”

Doyoung moves closer, and their thighs touch. He doesn’t look at Taeyong staring at him, “Yes.” A pause. “Last night, I – you – it was my first time. With you.” _A guy._

Trying to lift the fog of sombre off them both, Taeyong laughs, a little more genuine this time, “Well, if it was your first time, I hope it was good, at least.”

Doyoung’s head snaps up, eyes on Taeyong, and then his lips, “It was.”

Taeyong tightens his jaw, refusing to let himself indulge more in the moment than he already was. There was no reason for him to believe in more than just the surface; Doyoung liked the sex, and that was it. His mouth is dry, and Doyoung’s won’t stop looking at him again.

 _Enough, enough_.

Clearing his throat loudly, Taeyong gets on his feet. He winces at the pain again, but he walks away before Doyoung can notice it, “I’m going out.”

Doyoung stands to follow him, “Will you be home for dinner?”

 _Oh_ , how Taeyong could get used to hearing that from Doyoung, “I don’t know.”

He makes his way to his room, seeking a fresh set of clothes. Taeyong doesn’t quite expect the sight of his room to startle him. He’s transported back to four in the morning, and the image of Doyoung waiting for him on his own bed is fresh in his mind. The room looks too bright now, compared to last night’s darkness and dulled rationality. Doyoung stands behind him, and he must be thinking of last night too,

“I put the sheets in the wash.”

Taeyong only then notices that his bed is stripped bare. He doesn’t let himself dawdle on the fact that he wanted to hug the pillow once more, and maybe the smell of Doyoung will still be on it. _Pathetic_ , he shakes his head to free the thought.

“Thanks,” he remembers to answer Doyoung this time. Rummaging his drawers, he pulls out a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans to change into. He stops when he spots Doyoung waiting by the doorframe. “What?”

Doyoung snaps out if it, “I – I, uh,” he gestures vaguely in front of him, “I’m going to meet my friends today.”

Taeyong can’t stop himself, “Tonight?”

“No, no,” Doyoung is good at picking up what Taeyong laid down. “For lunch.”

“Okay,” Taeyong says, but he makes sure, “I’ll see you tonight?”

Doyoung gives him a small smile, “I’ll see you tonight.”

 

x

 

“What do you mean you had _sex_?!”

Taeyong glances around the classroom, even though he’s sure that no one’s around, “Could you not be so loud, we’re in a preschool, for god’s sake – ”

Taeil is unperturbed, “I don’t care!” He’s busy trotting around his classroom, picking up books and toys that were left on the mats by his previous class. Taeyong sits in one of the tiny chairs (he fits perfectly), head in his hands. Maybe it was a bad idea to talk to Taeil about it over lunch, especially on Sunday when the preschool teacher was already upset about having to come in on a weekend (he was called in as a relief). “Did you tell him you liked him?”

“No.” Taeyong hisses, stretching out his legs. “He said he wanted to _experiment_ ,” he says it with implied air quotations.

“I’m talking to Youngho, okay, they’re best friends, you can’t just – ”

“Taeil!” He groans loudly. “You _can’t,_ okay? This isn’t something – ”

“You’re going to get hurt, Taeyong,” he says in his stern teacher voice. “Don’t you know how badly this could end?”

Taeyong hates it when Taeil’s right, “Yes, but I’ll take what I can get.”

Taeil sighs loudly, hands on his hip, “Taeyong – ”

“You should’ve seen him!” Taeyong interjects. “He brought girls home every week, Taeil! And last night,” the look on Taeil’s face is nothing but pity, and Taeyong has to close his eyes. “Last night, he wanted _me_. How could I say no when I wanted it too?” He’s making excuses, he knows it himself.

“Didn’t you say he stopped doing that?” Taeil mutters. “Maybe – ”

“No,” Taeyong waves the thought away. “He goes out every night, what do you think he’s out doing? Playing Monopoly?”

Taeil is silent. He clanks around his desk for a moment, and walks over to him then, phone and wallet in his hands, “Let’s go out for lunch, my treat.”

Taeyong resigns, knowing Taeil feels bad everything too, “Just coffee is fine.”

 

The walk to Jenny’s is short, but they don’t exchange words. Taeyong takes the silence to think about everything. He knows it’s a bad idea to lead himself on, but he doesn’t want to let the chance slip away. His mind is always full of Doyoung, more than just the sex, more than just the touching. Nobody else seemed enough for Taeyong, and he’s never been in love, but he knows it in his heart that Doyoung might just be the one, even with all odds against it. Maybe he was never going to get more than just sex, but he was tired of waiting for something, _anything,_ to happen. What if nothing else was ever going to happen, and this was his only window to have Doyoung as more than just a friend? Even if it _does_ mean they were just friends with benefits?

“This is all Youngho’s fault, isn’t it?” Taeil wonders aloud, just as they turn down the street.

Taeyong doesn’t even consider it, “It is.”

Taeil’s six-foot boyfriend of two years is the root of this entire problem. If he hadn’t had that joint birthday party, Taeyong wouldn’t have had to leave home that night. If he hadn’t been so eager to have Taeil’s best friend meet his own, Taeyoung wouldn’t have had to meet Doyoung. If he hadn’t asked Taeil to move in with him, Doyoung wouldn’t have had to move out of _their_ apartment, and Taeyong wouldn’t have had to eagerly offer his place to him.

“No wonder you hate him,” Taeil jokes, holding the door to Jenny’s open for him.

“I don’t hate him,” Taeyong sighs, acknowledging the girl by the register, who greets them with a bright smile. Jenny’s, a small café, was pretty empty, sans two guys by the far right of the store, huddled together over a phone, and a group of girls chattering animatedly on the other side of it. “How’s the job, by the way?”

“Good,” Taeil says distractedly, studying the menu hanging above the counter slowly. Taeyong waits for him to continue. “He’s been getting more projects handed to him, which is great, and we’re almost done with unpacking everything at the apartment.”

“How’s that been coming along?”

Taeil thinks for a moment, “Nice.” Taeyong envies the smile on Taeil’s face, “It’s nice living together.”

 _Wish I could say the same_ , he thinks bitterly.

“Hi! What can I get you guys today?” The girl by the counter waves to catch their attention, and Taeil leads the way to the counter. They order, Taeil pays, and Taeyong thanks him for the drink.

“The least I could do,” Taeil shrugs, and they move to the left, continuing their conversation over Taeil and Youngho’s new life togehter. Taeyong’s midway into asking about how they decide on who cooks dinner when Taeil looks over his shoulder, frowning a little, “Do you know those guys over there?”

Taeyong turns at the question, bewildered when one of them is blatantly staring at him, and the other is looking out the window. He holds the gaze for a second, and when the boy’s lips curl into a sneer, not at all backing down, Taeyong looks away, “No idea.”

“They’ve been staring for a while,” Taeil murmurs.

The bell at the door tinkles, signalling a new customer. The girl at the counter is at it again,

“Hey there! What can I – Doyoung!”

Taeil grips at Taeyong’s forearm quicker than he can process the situation. He ducks down a little to hide behind Taeil, leaning forward to peer past Taeil’s shoulders to find that it _is_ Doyoung standing right there, several feet between them. It feels a little odd, seeing Doyoung outside the apartment, like he was looking at a weird glitch on a computer screen. Taeyong’s rarely seen Doyoung on campus, considering how they were in different faculties (arts and sciences), and he’s never gone _out_ with Doyoung. Was Doyoung a different person outside the apartment? Did he laugh more than when he was around Taeyong? It’s surreal, the way the light bounces of Doyoung’s hair, the way he smiles bright at the girl by the register, the way he thumbs the edge of his flannel when he spoke.

“Taeil?” _Oh, no, no, no_. Taeyong tries to shrink further into himself, but there’s only so much he can do before Doyoung’s taking half a step towards them, eyes widening into saucers.

“Hey!” Taeil barks a laugh, letting go of Taeyong’s arm. It’s sheer bad luck that Taeyong gets caught in an awkward situation with the most awkward person on the planet: Moon Taeil. “Hey, ha! Hey, how are you?”

“I, uh, I’m doing – ” Doyoung blinks down at how Taeyong’s obviously hiding. “I’m doing great! How are you?”

“Good!” Taeil replies quickly, and Taeyong starts to straighten up, leaning against the counter for support. He thinks his legs are going to give way at the way Doyoung is looking at him. “What are you, uh, doing here?”

Doyoung tears his eyes away from Taeyong to look around the café, exclaiming when he spots the two guys by the corner, “Just, er, meeting a couple of friends for lunch.”

“Oh, okay, okay, cool,” Taeil nods, evidently trying to find other things to say.

“Are you guys in the vocal club too?” The girl by the register is speaking again.

“What?” Taeil says, then, “Oh, no, we,” he turns to look at Taeyong with, and he glares at the boy when he spots how panicked Taeyong looked. He gestures at Doyoung, and then himself, “We’re just friends.”

Doyoung pipes up to help, “He’s dating my best friend.”

The girl nods perkily, “Ah! Oh, sorry, I just thought, since Jaehyun’s over there too – ”

“I’m just meeting them to ask about, er,” Doyoung’s looks to the ground. Curiosity bubbles in Taeyong. “Some things.”

“I’m Sejeong, by the way,” the girl introduces herself jovially, tiptoeing, reaching over the counter to shake Taeil’s hand, and he gives his name as well. “I just joined the university’s vocal club!” She sticks her hand out towards Taeyong, he _really_ doesn’t want to take it. He makes a mistake of looking up at Doyoung, staring at Sejeong in completely consternation.

Oh? _Oh_.

Taeyong takes the hand even though his heart is about to split down the middle. With the steadiest voice he can manage, “Taeyong.”

“Nice to meet you guys!” She beams, retreating behind the cashier. “Why don’t you guys take a seat? I’ll bring your drinks over!”

Taeil rushes to refuse, “Oh, no, it’s okay, we can just have them to go – ”

Sejeong is polite, “I insist! I’ve to make Doyoung’s drink too, so just take a seat, I’ll be right over with your drinks!”

It’s how they end up at the table with two other guys, Doyoung on Taeyong’s right, and Taeil on his left.

“Taeyong?” The boy introduced as Jaehyun echoes when he repeats his name for the second time. “Doyoung’s roommate?”

He nods in response, feeling incredibly small under the stares of Jaehyun and,

“Yuta,” he fills the gap. Maybe it’s the way he was staring at Taeyong earlier, or the way he’s grinning now, but it makes Taeyong think he’s missing something. “Heard quite a bit about you from Doyoung.”

Taeyong turns to look at Doyoung, but the other is busy glaring daggers at the brunette, “Shut up, Yuta.”

“Just saying,” Yuta shrugs, scrunching his nose while giving Taeyong a full once over, like he was assessing him. Taeyong frowns, staring back now. He figures he didn’t really like the guy, and he’s about to up and leave when Taeil interrupts,

“Are you guys all part of the, what? Vocal club? At school?”

“Just those two,” Yuta jerks his chin at Doyoung and Jaehyun. “And Sejeong too, but she’s new.”

The name makes Taeyong perk in attention. Yuta notices, and he cocks his head to the right, intrigued. Taeyong’s about to ask what’s his deal, when Doyoung catches the interaction, “Hey – ”

“Think she’s got a crush on Doyoung though,” Yuta hums, not at all bothered when Jaehyun rams his elbow into his ribs, mortified, as if he’s spilt some big secret.

 _Oh_. They know? They must know. Doyoung must’ve told them over text or something, whatever it was he was intending on doing with Taeyong. His face burns at the idea that they _know_. He never mentioned to Doyoung that he didn’t want other people knowing, and he didn’t think it’d be something worth mentioning to his friends. Taeil is tapping away furiously at his phone, and he can only hope that it’s not to tell Youngho to get his ass down here and fix everything. Taeyong focuses on the beads of condensation falling from Jaehyun’s drink, doing his best to avoid the way Doyoung’s sputtering,

“She does _not_ , Yuta,” he grits out. “Don’t be saying shit – ”

But Yuta is still focused on Taeyong, “You should give her a chance, Doyoung! She’s very pretty, isn’t she?”

The question is directed right at him, Taeyong knows, and he decides that he _really_ doesn’t like Yuta, or whatever it is he was trying to do. Perplexed, he answers, “She’s pretty.”

It’s not quite an exaggeration to say that the entire world stops. Jaehyun and Doyoung are watching him with matching looks of flabbergast, and Taeil is frowning so deeply, the lines look like they’re going to be permanent. Only Yuta’s grinning down at him,

“Think he should go for it?”

Doyoung cuts in, “Hey, enough – ”

Taeyong shrugs, “He can date whoever he wants.”

No one says anything, and Taeyong doesn’t know who’s looking at him now, because he’s staring out the window, mind completely blank.

“Your drinks are ready!” Sejeong bumbles by just in time, before anyone can say anything else about the nasty atmosphere surrounding the table of five. Her voice is pleasant, Taeyong thinks, _she must sound really good when she sings._ She hands the drinks out, repeating their orders diligently, and Taeyong takes his with thanks. Taeil gets up wordlessly, leaving the table without much care. It stuns Taeyong momentarily, but he’s up on his feet the next second, muttering goodbyes, scrambling after Taeil.

“What was that about!” Taeil complains when he joins the shorter man on the sidewalk. “What kind of friends are those, honestly, are they _trying_ to stir shit up, god, honestly!”

Taeyong sips on his drink (it’s a mix of chocolate and coffee) quietly, still reeling from it all. What _was_ that all about?

“Do you think Youngho knows them?” Taeil whips around to ask, and Taeyong shrugs. “Because if he does, I’m going to – ”

“Do nothing,” Taeyong interrupts promptly. “You’re not going to do or say anything to Youngho, because it doesn’t even matter.”

Taeil looks pained, “Come on, Taeyong, you were in there with me! How are you so calm, that was horrible, that guy obviously tried – ”

“Look,” Taeyong stops in his tracks. He takes a big sip of his drink, trying to gather his thoughts. “They don’t know I actually _like_ Doyoung, right? They were probably just trying to convince him that this whole experimenting thing was a bad idea, and that he should probably go after someone like that girl anyway.” Taeil hasn’t taken a sip of his drink, looking a lot more like he was going to go back in there and hurl it at Yuta. He continues before Taeil can think up a logical response, “If anything, this just means that last night was a blunder, and that Doyoung probably wants nothing more to do with me, right? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Taeil narrows his eyes, “Stop trying to make it seem like things are working out just fine, I – ”

“Things _are_ working out just fine,” Taeyong starts walking again, and Taeil follows to hear the rest. “He’s not going to stop liking girls overnight, Taeil. If I can have him, even just like this, even if it’s just for awhile, it’s good enough for me.”

“ _Taeyong_ – ”

“Won’t you let me have this? Just for a little while more?”

Taeil doesn’t retort this time, the weight of Taeyong’s words sinking deep. And then,

“When all of this blows over,” he grunts begrudgingly. “I’m going to kill Youngho.”

 

Taeyong expects nothing from Doyoung when he comes back home at six in the evening, hours earlier than last night. He’s sitting in the same spot he was in the previous night, but without the blanket and the containers of greasy food. Doyoung enters the apartment, and Taeyong blinks at the number of Target shopping bags are hanging from his arms. He knew Doyoung liked to grocery shop whenever he was stressed, but he didn’t know what to do with that information,

“I’m going to cook dinner.”

Taeyong’s voice is hoarse from disuse, “Okay.”

They go about doing separate things then, not really having anything menial to talk about, other than the giant elephant sitting between them. It seems like Doyoung was trying to gauge how Taeyong was feeling from his spot in the kitchen, so Taeyong buries his face into his arms, concentrating on his lab reports instead. Doyoung moves around quietly, and then he leaves to take a shower. The sound of the water running coaxes him to think about this afternoon again; Doyoung seemed different outside of the apartment. Maybe a little more guarded than Taeyong was expecting. He’d thought the boy would be louder and more relaxed around his friends, but it didn’t look that way. Then again, the circumstance they were in made the reaction completely excusable. Taeyong leans back onto the couch, and he wonders how Doyoung would be like on a normal day. He’d still be talking about film stuff, Taeyong assumes, because the boy never shut up about it. He entertains the thought for a while, and it inescapably progresses to _What would Doyoung do on a date?_ It’s a dangerous thought, but Taeyong lets himself think about it. He’s had many thoughts like these, but never quite so vivid, as if he could materialise it if he just reached forward and –

“Dinner’s ready.”

Taeyong jolts from his daydream, hand falling to his lap quickly. Doyoung looks down at him with a towel around his neck, hair damp and pushed back, and _oh_ , he looks good like that too. Doyoung sticks a hand out, an offering, and Taeyong takes it, letting Doyoung pull him up to his feet.

“Thanks,” he mutters, sidestepping away towards the kitchen, where dinner awaits him on a tiny square table that barely deserves being called a dining table. It’s lasagne, served on mismatched plates but Doyoung remembers to use the placemats this time. It looks tasty; the noodles are probably premade, but the sauce and cheese smells delectable. He takes a seat, and Doyoung shuffles to take the one adjacent to his. “Thanks,” he says again, picking up a fork to dig in.

“You’re welcome,” Doyoung murmurs back. The first few bites are taken in silence, and Taeyong eats quietly, slowly, waiting to see which topic of conversation Doyoung wanted to begin with: “I went to the doctor’s today.”

Okay, Taeyong wasn’t expecting _that_ , “And?”

“I’m clean,” Doyoung takes a big bite. Taeyong doesn’t, and he waits for Doyoung to finish chewing, “So… We can… You know.”

Taeyong thumbs at the pink plate, averting his eyes, “You still want to?”

Doyoung lowers the next bite he was intending to take, “Do you?”

“I just thought,” Taeyong cuts the lasagne into bite-sized pieces, his appetite slowly fading. “This afternoon… Your friends, they,” he waits for Doyoung to say something, hoping he wouldn’t have to spell it out, but Doyoung is quiet, “They didn’t look like they approved.”

Doyoung puts his fork down, “How did you know they knew?”

Taeyong focuses on his lasagne, “It wasn’t rocket science.”

“Sorry,” Doyoung whispers. “I should’ve asked if you were okay with me talking to other people about it, but I – I didn’t expect you to meet them so soon, I – ”

“It’s fine.” That wasn’t quite what Taeyong meant. “I just – maybe they aren’t okay with you, y’know, _experimenting_ with,” this is so painfully difficult to handle, “someone like me.”

Doyoung catches it then, “Oh. Oh, no, you don’t have to worry about that.” He laughs, and Taeyong looks up to glare at him because he’s trying to have a serious conversation here, “They’re dating.”

Taeyong frowns, “What?”

He picks the fork up again, insinuating that he was a little relieved the conversation was moving forward, “Yeah. Jaehyun snagged Yuta, like, what? A couple of months ago?”

Finished with his little project, Taeyong continues to eat, “I couldn’t tell.”

"Doyoung shrugs, “It’s hard to think about anything else when you’re talking to Yuta.” Taeyong looks at him for an explanation, “Y’know, what with all the shit he’s saying all the time.”

Taeyong laughs at that, and Doyoung’s smile widens. He doesn’t know if he should be happy at how things are going, but Taeyong is well aware that he’s glad things aren’t ending just yet. The conversation moves onto smaller, less important topics, like how Youngho’s planning to ask Taeil to go on a trip with him back to meet his family (he told Doyoung), and how Taeil was planning on gifting Youngho a limited-edition vinyl record player for Christmas (he told Taeyong). Halfway through the meal, Taeyong realises how strangely close Doyoung is to him. They’ve had breakfast, lunch, and dinners like this before, but Doyoung was never _too_ close.

He realises why when Doyoung fiddles with the Kleenex in his hands,

“Later… Do you want to…”

Taeyong considers for a moment, and he’s about to agree, about to ignore the fact that his back was still hurting, but decides against it, “Not, uh, not tonight.”

Doyoung tenses, crumpling the tissue, “Oh. Okay, sorry, I just – ”

“I mean,” Taeyong puts his fork down carefully. “I can, uh – I can do other things? Since I mean,” he laughs hesitantly, “You wanted to experience sleeping with…” He trails off when Doyoung looks up at him, breathing heavily, loud amidst the silence.

He swallows thickly, “Other things?”

Taeyong bites on his tongue, looking at their dishes, “Let’s clean this up first?”

Doyoung nods gawkily, standing up so quick the sound of the chair scratching the kitchen tiles is ear-splitting. His ears are blushing red from embarrassment, so Taeyong lets it go, feeling his stomach churn at the thought of what he planned to do next. He’s given blowjobs before, but it’s different this time. For one, he just _ate_. For another, it was _Doyoung_. Taeyong knows he should really stop using that as a reason to glorify everything on a pedestal, but how could he not when he’s jerked off to the idea of having Doyoung in his mouth? It was not something he was proud of, and it wasn’t something he was going to admit to aloud.

Stumbling, he stands to bring his plate to Doyoung too, elbows bumping when he leaves it in the sink. Doyoung doesn’t acknowledge him, completely fixed on cleaning up the pots and pans he used earlier. Taeyong hovers for a moment, wondering if he should help when he notices a little tuft of hair sticking out on the top of Doyoung’s head. It’s not a reach, since their heights are near similar, Taeyong only being several inches shorter, but he stretches to flatten it. Doyoung stones under his touch. It sparks a tiny flame in him, invigorated. He trails his hand down the back of Doyoung’s neck, brushing his thumb over the shell of Doyoung’s ear, revelling in the way he shivers. The water is still running over Doyoung’s soapy hands. Taeyong leans in close to press a kiss to Doyoung’s neck, soft and quick. It might’ve been a little too fond, but Doyoung doesn’t say anything about it. He does, however, turn to look at Taeyong with half-lidded eyes, leaning a little into his hold. The eye contact lasts for a second before Doyoung’s eyes are on his lips again,

Pulling away, Taeyong offers a small smile, “I’ll wait for you out there?”

Doyoung makes a strangled noise, “Okay.”

A little triumphant, Taeyong ambles out into the living room, slowly packing up his things. He obviously wasn’t going to get anything done tonight either. It’s about fifteen minutes after that Doyoung leaves the kitchen, shirt a little wet from the dishwashing. Taeyong puts his phone onto the coffee table when he spots him, licking his lips. Slowly, Doyoung sinks into the seat beside him, hands digging into his kneecaps, torturously tense at the situation unfolding between them. Taeyong leans close, and Doyoung bares his neck for him, almost automatic now.

“Could you,” Taeyong says against his skin, hands resting on Doyoung’s shoulders comfortably. “Take your shirt off?”

Doyoung listens, shifting a little to pull his shirt off, scrunching his shirt into a ball, tucking it into the corner of the couch. Taeyong hooks his leg over Doyoung’s hips, starting to work his way down Doyoung’s chest. Things move quicker tonight, and Doyoung’s already groaning under his touch by the time Taeyong slips down to the ground between his legs. He spreads Doyoung’s thighs open to slot himself cozy, palming Doyoung through his boxers.

“Okay?” Taeyong looks at him through his lashes, purposefully fanning his breath over Doyoung’s clothed dick. He moans his approval, and Taeyong yanks his boxers down quick, just enough to get his hand around Doyoung immediately. Doyoung’s hips jerk up at the touch, and he hisses at the dry contact. Taeyong steels his stomach to take Doyoung’s tip between his lips, using his elbows to hold him down by the thighs.

“ _God_ ,” Doyoung wheezes. He lifts a hand to cup Taeyong’s cheek, looking bewildered. “I – you – ”

Taeyong feels his jaw stretch as he takes more of Doyoung in, closing his eyes to direct his attention towards his goal. Doyoung’s palm is hot against his cheek, and it doesn’t help that he keeps trying to thumb at Taeyong’s lip. He bobs his head slowly, feeling Doyoung’s dick harden in his mouth, and he gets used to the stretch after moments more. Taeyong’s nose grazes the base Doyoung’s torso, and he breathes deeply, taking in the heady scent of Doyoung’s sweat and skin and a hint of body wash. Apart from the way Doyoung’s moaning above him, Taeyong’s ears are filled with the sounds of his tongue and mouth working wet, sucking and licking with as much fervor as he can manage. Doyoung’s hand leaves his cheek to slide into his hair, pulling at it tentatively. Taeyong moans at the numb sting, and Doyoung gives him another tug, sending blood straight to Taeyong’s unattended hard-on.

Taeyong strokes himself in his pants, busy with handling both him and Doyoung _again_ , but it makes it easier for him to synchronise their strokes. Doyoung whines high and sharp, and Taeyong braces his throat for the jerk of the hips. He comes, as expected, hips lifting off the couch uncontrollably. Taeyong recoils at the sudden pressure, but he swallows it all, watching Doyoung’s jaw drop. Giving him one last suck, Doyoung whines at the strain, and Taeyong leans back onto his haunches, jerking himself off until he comes into his hand, shaking through his orgasm. Doyoung tucks himself away, ducking down to grab him by the shoulders, and Taeyong tilts further away to look him in the eye. He can still taste Doyoung, salty and a little bitter, and he sticks a tongue out to pant open-mouthed, throat scratchy and dry.

“Do you – ” Doyoung’s thumb is on the corner of his lips, eyes wavering, and Taeyong imagines him to be swiping away his saliva. “Do you need anything? After – ”

“Water,” Taeyong exhales loudly. “And a washcloth.”

Doyoung nods hastily, but he hesitates for a split second before he leans down to press a kiss to Taeyong’s neck. Taeyong doesn’t think much of it, still numb from tasting Doyoung for the first time. Doyoung comes back with a damp washcloth first, and he tries to help clean Taeyong up, but Taeyong shies away, asking for water to get him up and out of sight again. He cleans himself up thoroughly, and he was going to need a change of underwear, but his legs are too weak to hold him up. Doyoung is back in the next minute, and Taeyong clumps the dirty cloth, leaving it behind him so that Doyoung wouldn’t reach to get rid of it. He has a mug in his hands, lukewarm when Taeyong takes it with a soft _thanks._ It smells a little citrus-y, and Taeyong glances into the cup.

“It’s Yuzu,” Doyoung says when he notices Taeyong’s confusion. “And honey.”

“What?” Taeyong takes a sip. It’s sweet, and soothing.

“It’s good for the, uh, the throat,” Doyoung’s cheeks flush.

“Oh.” Taeyong blinks at the cup. “Thanks.”

Doyoung leans forward, steadying himself with a hand on the couch, and the other on the coffee table. He kisses Taeyong on the neck again, and the thought that it was a kiss meant for his lips is fleeting.

“I wanted to ask you,” Doyoung moves away, but not quite far enough. “What you said, this afternoon,” Taeyong presses the mug to his lips, ready to take another sip. “Did you – did you mean it? About dating other people?”

Taeyong’s teeth bumps onto the rim of the cup with a faint _clink_ , but Doyoung doesn’t hear it. Instead of answering right away, Taeyong finishes the drink, the cogs in his brain working overtime. Until finally, “Yeah.” He wanted Doyoung, and he wanted more than just what he was offering, but there didn’t seem to be a chance for Taeyong to fit that in. The thought of Doyoung dropping him for someone he was _actually_ interested in felt like a knife struck through his chest, but he reasons, "A heads up would be nice.”

Doyoung’s expression is unreadable, and his voice is weak when he says, “Okay.”

 

x

 

“Here are the samples from last week.”

Taeyong sits up from his hunched over position by his lab bench, blinking a few times to focus on the intern in front of him. His contact lenses were always shifting around lately, and he meant to visit the optometrist, but he hasn’t had the time. The days seem to pass by quicker than they used to. Not only did he juggle classes, lab work, and teaching assistant duties, he now had Doyoung on his plate too.

It’s been nearly a month since their first time together, and it’s still a hazy mess of blowjobs and getting fucked. They got around to sleeping together at least twice a week, most of them ending with Taeyong sleeping on the couch, and he was getting a little… _tired_. Doyoung had a habit of keeping his hands far from Taeyong’s lower half, and Taeyong doesn’t blame him. He wasn’t quite familiar with how things worked in situations like these, but Taeyong was positive it was probably because he wasn’t used to seeing another man bare, or maybe it was because he hadn’t warmed up to Taeyong just yet. Doyoung, however, had no problems touching his arms and chest, and very occasionally, lacing his fingers into Taeyong’s hair. He liked to cup Taeyong’s cheek too, or hold him gently by the neck while Taeyong worked busily down his chest.

Not that it was _bad_ , but Taeyong was starting to tire from doing all the legwork for them both. The mental aspect of their little contract was taking a toll on him, and sometimes he wished for a sign that Doyoung was concerned with it as well. They haven’t spoken much about it, Taeyong too nervous to break the spell, and Doyoung for whatever reasons he didn’t share either. There were perks too, no doubt; Doyoung seemed to relax more around him, and he was constantly asking what Taeyong felt like having for meals, cooking only his favourites and requested dishes.

“Taeyong?” His intern repeats, concern etched deeply into his face.

“Yes,” Taeyong clears his throat, reaching for the files. “Thanks, Minhyung.”

Minhyung, a freshman and one of his assigned interns at the lab, hands him the files with an apprehensive look, “You haven’t eaten anything today…”

He blinks, “Haven’t I gone for lunch?”

Minhyung’s brows fly so far up, they nearly disappear into his hairline, “No, you haven’t… Are you okay?”

Taeyong waves the concern away, “Yes, yeah, I’m just… a little tired.”

“Oh,” Minhyung fiddles with his lanyard. His pass had his high school picture on it, black hair a contrast to his current platinum blonde. “Do you want me to run and get you something from the cafeteria? I can get back really quick, it’s – ”

“No,” Taeyong laughs at Minhyung’s urgency, knowing the boy wanted to make a good impression on him, for he was the one writing his results report. It wasn’t like he was going to write bad things either, Minhyung was far more competent than Taeyong ever hoped in an intern. He rubs at his eyes, trying to rid the sleepiness, “You’re an intern, not my personal assistant. I can’t have you running on personal errands.”

“I can just – ”

“It’s fine,” Taeyong insists. “I think I have something in my bag anyway, I’m okay. Thanks, Minhyung.”

He nods obediently, but he doesn’t leave, “I wanted to, uh, ask you something too.”

Taeyong looks up from flipping through the file, “What about?”

“Did you ever work during college?” Minhyung blurts out, and Taeyong really wishes the boy would calm down around him. The boy’d been so afraid of Taeyong the moment the assignments were announced, and they hadn’t gotten acquainted well enough for Minhyung to realise what a softie Taeyong was under his cold appearance.

“I did,” Taeyong hums. “First and second year. Why?”

“Oh,” Minhyung twiddles his thumbs. “I was wondering if I should work… If the workload is manageable?”

“Just try it out for a month or two, see if you can handle college and work,” Taeyong advises. “And if you can, you should get a job at a restaurant… Pays are better at high-end restaurants too.”

Minhyung looks pleased at having his questions answered, and he thanks Taeyong before leaving, but not before asking _again_ , if he should run out and get him a sandwich. On all counts of good luck, Taeyong’s stomach grumbles only after Minhyung leaves, and he slides off his chair to grab his bag from the hook by the far wall. He doesn’t remember taking one of Doyoung’s prepacked lunches (leftovers), but after a moment of digging through notes and files, his fingers catch hold of crinkly foil. _Did he?_ An energy bar. Taeyong wraps his finger around it, already feeling a smile on his lips when he remembers not packing one. The post-it note explains its existence,

 

_don’t just fill up on sweets!_

_DY_

 

It makes Taeyong’s heart beat loud in his ears when he reads the tiny message again and again. Doyoung had taken it upon himself to slip packets of nuts or granola bars whenever he had a full day of lab work, and Taeyong thinks it’s just one of the perks of his nightly duties. They’ve never brought it up between them, as they did with countless of other things, but Doyoung seemed to take Taeyong’s silence as a positive response, adding notes to whatever he managed to slip in. Biting on his lip to stop himself from grinning _too_ madly, Taeyong pulls his planner from his backpack, sticking the note carefully under today’s agenda, matching the ones from the rest of the week. He reaches for his phone when it vibrates noisily against the table, blatantly hoping it's Doyoung, asking what he wanted for dinner,

 

13NOV [14:56] **taeil** : free?  
13NOV [14:56] **taeil** : my class is out at the park near campus  
13NOV [14:57] **taeil** : haven’t seen you in a while…

 

If Taeyong was being completely honest, he was avoiding Taeil. The older boy certainly wouldn’t approve that he was still having this crazy rendezvous or whatever it is with Doyoung, and Taeyong already has his own conscience to grapple with. But, he admits defeatedly, if there was anyone to talk to about this, it would definitely be Taeil, what with how much he knew about Taeyong’s deep-seated infatuation. Typing out an agreeable reply, Taeyong grabs the energy bar off the table, hurrying out of the lab to speak with his best friend about his internal turmoil.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” Taeyong tells Minhyung, seated at a bench closest to the door, working hard at his computer.

The look on relief on Minhyung’s face is adorable, “Okay.”

“Call me if anyone breaks anything,” and he’s out the door, already feeling a little better at the thought of getting in some fresh air.

Taeil and his class of four-year-olds aren’t hard to miss. There are maybe twenty of them scattered about, climbing on the plastic roofs of the playground, rolling around in the sandpits, and one of them looking like they were eating handfuls of grass and mud.

“Hey,” Taeyong plunks onto the wooden bench beside Taeil, where the man looked almost as exhausted as Taeyong felt. Taeil smiles tiredly, reaching behind him to brandish a cup of coffee, the Jenny’s cardboard holder greeting him happily.

“Got you something,” Taeil sighs, and Taeyong slips the energy bar into his coat pocket, taking the drink in his hands. It’s hot chocolate, perfect for warming his hands up. They sit in comfortable silence, punctuated by Taeil’s loving chides at the boy who was indeed eating fistfuls of grass. It’s always easy with Taeil; they’d met when Taeyong was a freshman, and Taeil was in second year. They bonded over general education modules, and it’s been an easy ride. It was a low-maintenance friendship, and they managed to keep good contact without having to meet up too much. Taeyong liked that about them.

Several students run up to Taeil to ask for permission to roam further around the park, but they’re always sent away with a firm _No, it’s dangerous. Stay where I can see you._

“How are you?” Taeil says to him then, but his eyes are still watching the children diligently. A girl with pigtails trips over her own feet, but Taeil just sends her an encouraging thumbs up, and she’s on her feet again, running around giddily.

Taeyong skirts around, “Good. Lab work is piling, but my interns are good this semester.”

“Yeah?”

Taeyong nods, “Minhyung and a couple others. They help around a lot. Noisy, but it adds life to the lab, I guess.”

Taeil hums, moving to hug his knees close to his chest, “And what about things at home?”

 _Things with Doyoung_. Taeyong nervously thumbs the edges of his cup. Should he tell Taeil that he was having second thoughts about being with Doyoung? About just having sex, no strings attached? Could he even admit it out loud? How much it was bothering him that nothing was going anywhere?

“Good, I hope?” Taeil offers, and Taeyong takes it,

“It’s good.”

Taeil exhales loudly, and his shoulders droop from his ears, “Good. I was worried about you.”

Taeyong’s chest tightens, guilt, “Don’t be.” Switching the subject, he asks, “What about you? Anything new?”

“Youngho wants to go on a trip.”

 _Oh._ Taeyong’s heard this from Doyoung before, but he feigns ignorance, “Oh? Where to?”

“Back home,” it’s said with a sigh, and Taeyong studies his best friend closely. “To his family.”

Pursing his lips, Taeyong probes, “Is that… Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” Taeil sighs, unfolding his legs, hitting the ground with a loud _thump_. “Just… nervous.”

“To meet his family?”

Taeil nods, lacing his fingers together tightly, “For the first time. I know he always says they’re accepting and everything, but… You never know?” He shrugs. “And it’s my first time flying too.”

Taeyong picks at the plastic cap. He didn’t know what to say, he has never gotten that far in any relationship, “Want me to talk to Youngho?”

“You? Talk to Youngho?” Taeil chuckles, incredulous. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea considering how much you hate him – ”

Taeyong flicks him on the shoulder, “I said I don’t _hate_ him, okay, I just – ”

“Don’t like him?”

“It’s not because he’s not a good guy, obviously,” Taeyong knew how much the boy was in love with Taeil. “It’s just – ”

“Doyoung.”

Taeyong blinks, taken aback. Taeil’s still looking out at the group of children screaming around the park, “No, it’s – ”

“No, I mean,” Taeil grabs him harshly by the shoulder, angling him to follow his line of sight. “Isn’t that Doyoung?”

Taeyong spots the purple hair easily amongst the background of greenery. He looks the same as how he looked when he bid Taeyong goodbye that morning, dressed in a white cotton shirt with a funky pineapple and denim jeans, jacket in his arms. Again, it’s dreamlike, watching Doyoung move under actual sunlight this time now too. There’s a cold drink in his hand, a drink from Jenny’s. It’s then that Taeyong realises there’s a girl walking with him, and in the next moment he realises it’s Sejeong.

The energy bar is heavy in his pocket. The drink in his hand feels like an anchor. The beat in his heart slows, and he thinks it’s might stop. There’s nothing to break, there was never anything to break, was there?

“Stop,” Taeil shakes him out of it, knowing full well how Taeyong’s mind worked, how it festered in its own thoughts, like a giant vat of green gurgling gunk. “You have to talk to him.”

“No, I – ” Taeyong can’t stop staring. Doyoung has that smile on, that stupid smile that takes up half his face because it’s so wide and bright. Sejeong looks pretty too, in a nice dress with her own jacket on. Taeyong thinks he looks drab in his jeans and lab coat.

“Enough, Taeyong!” Taeil is mad now. Taeyong grabs onto his wrist, afraid he might get up and stomp over to interrupt their date. “I thought you said things were good? Why – he should at least have the courtesy to _inform_ you?”

Did he have to? He did. Taeyong remembers explicitly, requesting to be given a heads up if Doyoung ever decided to go after Sejeong, or anyone for the matter. He was going to need time to come to terms with everything, and he didn’t want to face anything head on, very much like he had to deal with right now.

“If you don’t talk to him,” Taeil is stern, but Taeyong’s barely listening. He watches until Doyoung and Sejeong turn down the end of the street, disappearing right before his eyes. “I’m going to talk to Youngho about it.”

“Not – ”

“I hate to see you like this,” Taeil tuts disapprovingly. “Can’t you see that it’s hurting you?”

Taeyong slouches onto the bench, drink cold in his hands. When was Taeil ever wrong? Maybe he should end it before Doyoung does it to him. That way, he’d be able to still retain _some_ dignity when Doyoung really asks Sejeong out, and he has to deal with them parading their happiness around the apartment.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Taeil echoes, like he was shocked at Taeyong’s answer too. “You’ll talk to him?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong mumbles, hands going numb at the thought of everything falling apart. “I will.”

Taeil pats his shoulder encouragingly, and he sighs softly, “You can always come and stay over at my place if you need to.”

Taeyong juts out a lower lip, unsure at the idea of sharing an apartment with Taeil _and_ Youngho, but he nods anyway, grateful for the offer. His phone buzzes in his pocket, just as Taeil leaves the bench to tend to a crying boy,

 

13NOV [15:32] **doyoung** : hey  
13NOV [15:32] **doyoung** : are you free tonight?

 

_No. No, I’m not._

 

13NOV [15:34] **taeyong** : yeah  
13NOV [15:34] **taeyong** : why?  
13NOV [15:34] **doyoung** : there’s a fair near the apartment  
13NOV [15:35] **doyoung** : want to come with?

 

Taeyong stares down at his phone. _What game are you playing at, Kim Doyoung?_

 

13NOV [15:37] **doyoung** : i mean  
13NOV [15:38] **doyoung** : since it’s friday  
13NOV [15:38] **doyoung:** and we usually get take out for dinner?  
13NOV [15:38] **doyoung** : jaehyun said that the food there is really good?  
13NOV [15:41] **taeyong** : are you going with them?  
13NOV [15:41] **taeyong** : your vocal club friends?

 

His heart drops when the message _pings_ in,

 

13NOV [15:45] **doyoung** : no  
13NOV [15:46] **doyoung** : just us two  
13NOV [15:48] **doyoung** : is that okay?

 

It’s a chance to talk (an excuse),

 

13NOV [15:53] **taeyong** : okay  
13NOV [15:53] **doyoung** : see you tonight?  
13NOV [15:55] **taeyong** : see you tonight

 

When Taeil returns from pacifying the crying child, he invites Taeyong over for dinner, since Youngho’s busy with a big project that he has to pitch in a couple of weeks. Taeil’s interrogation, while meticulous, is not a match for the three years of practice under his belt. He manages to dodge them with expertise, disguising his outing with Doyoung as another late night at the lab. It takes longer than he’d hoped, but Taeyong is waiting at the subway station closest to their apartment, half an hour since the sun has set. The rest of the day at the lab was filled with menial work, not enough to take his mind off spending time with Doyoung outside of the apartment for the first time (in this sort of situation). It wasn’t a date, _no_ , of course not, but Taeyong paints it more than just a meeting between friends, what with the benefits.

He’s still jittery when Doyoung emerges from the turnstile, jacket zipped up to his chin,

“Hey,” Doyoung smiles down at him, that same stupid smile that took up half his face.

“Hi,” and he doesn’t mean to sound breathless, but it comes out that way.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Doyoung says, leading them out of the station and into the colder streets. There’s a throng of people around them, and Taeyong holds his jacket close to himself. “It must be this way,” Doyoung mumbles, looking up at the exit signs, just as someone pushes from the back. Taeyong’s hands shoot out before his face can slam into Doyoung’s chest. The taller boy looks down, amused at his obvious fragility, holding out his hand. Taeyong stares at it, and someone pushes into him again. Doyoung grabs it then, not waiting for Taeyong to make the decision. “Okay?” He asks, huddling Taeyong to walk ahead of him, lest someone shoves him _again_.

He nods jerkily, shuffling with the crowd. Doyoung is close behind him, and he has a hold on Taeyong’s hand, the other on Taeyong’s shoulder, guiding him efficiently. The yellow tents come into view then, and the crowd starts to dissipate, everyone slowing down to stroll at their own pace. It’s a slew of tiny food carts, and small stores selling useless knick-knacks and potted plants and other things that Taeyong can’t really see because the sheer amount of people around them is _insane_.

“Why do I feel like I’m in a frat party?” Taeyong huffs, hitching his shoulder bag higher up his shoulder.

Doyoung laughs, beside him now. He still has Taeyong’s hand in his, tugging Taeyong in specific directions, “Have you even been to a frat party?”

Taeyong sniffs, “No. But I would imagine it feels like this.”

“Yeah,” Doyoung takes a left, and Taeyong hurries to keep up, pressing up to Doyoung’s arm, keeping close. “But with a lot more alcohol.”

“You would know,” Taeyong eyes the nuggets of fried chicken sold in paper cups, and he pulls on Doyoung’s hand to slow him down. He lets Doyoung’s hand go to dig for his wallet, just as he orders a serving.

“What do you mean by that?” Doyoung asks while shepherding Taeyong to the edge of the stall, where there were less people around. Taeyong’s bag is full of books and notes, heavy on his shoulder, _Where is my wallet?_ Just as he touches the leather of it, “Hey, I got it,” Doyoung pays for the chicken with bills from his jacket pocket. “Here,” he reaches over the portable oven to thank the lady for it, handing the cup to Taeyong.

“I can pay for myself,” Taeyong frowns, but he takes it anyway, the irresistible smell of its greasy goodness. He pops one into his mouth, and he winces at the sizzling heat of it, keeping it between his teeth, huffing out puffs of white air. Doyoung pulls out his phone, taking half a step back to aim it at Taeyong. Unsure of what to do, Taeyong tries to smile for a picture, but Doyoung laughs,

“It’s a video!”

Taeyong rolls his eyes, turning away, but Doyoung catches him on the shoulder, “How is it? Good?”

“Yes,” Taeyong feels his face warm up when Doyoung manoeuvres his phone to record him eating. “Why are you always filming things?”

“Memories,” Doyoung says simply, but he, thankfully, stops the recording, and smiles down at his phone. Taeyong scoffs, turning to hide a smile. He briefly wonders which one of Doyoung’s plethora of social medias that video would be on, but realises he doesn’t care, since he didn’t have accounts on any of them anyway. Taeyong tries to pick another bite, but it falls from the cup, and onto the gravel beneath them.

“Careful,” Doyoung tuts disapprovingly, grabbing a couple of napkins from the stand. Taeyong holds his hand out for it, but Doyoung shakes his head, “I’ll hold onto it for you, just eat slowly.”

Taeyong’s heart is up in his throat, so he pokes another piece into the stick, holding it in front of Doyoung lips. Doyoung eyes at it carefully, and then at Taeyong, who nods for him to take it. He grabs Taeyong’s hand steady, pulling it off the stick cautiously. He keeps his hand over Taeyong’s, and it’s overly loving, the way they stare each other down, chewing carefully in fear of burning the tip of their tongues.

“It’s good,” Taeyong takes his hand back, breaking the spell to spear another bite onto the stick. He adds, to thin the silence, “Flaming hot though.”

“Want a drink?” Doyoung’s already looking around them. “There’s a store over there, I’ll get you – ”

“No, no,” Taeyong waves the stick in objection. “You paid for the chicken, I should – ”

Doyoung looks down at him, “I asked you out, didn’t I?”

It startles Taeyong so far into his core that he can’t stop Doyoung from diving back into the crowd. He doesn’t take another bite, doesn’t so much as move, until Doyoung is back with a large, pale orange drink in his hands. They exchange the chicken and drink wordlessly,

“It’s melon,” Doyoung says when Taeyong takes the straw between his thumb and index finger. “Your favourite, right?”

Taeyong has to grind his teeth together to stop himself from smiling, “The fruit. I haven’t had it as a drink.” He takes a sip as Doyoung watches him expectantly, like a child waiting to be graded on a drawing, “It’s good,” he says, for the thousandth time in the past half hour. “Want some?” He angles the straw towards Doyoung, and he nods, closing his lips around the straw, precariously close to Taeyong’s fingers. Taeyong should’ve pulled his hand away, but his motor sensors appear to have stopped working, all the nerves in his body focused on staring at Doyoung.

“Sweet,” Doyoung comments, pulling away with his brows raised. “But it’s nice.”

“Mm,” Taeyong hums, clutching the drink close to his chest.

Doyoung finishes the cup of chicken, and Taeyong finishes the drink by the time they’re nearing the last stand of the fair, having bought nothing even after an hour of walking around. The conversation topics stay light-hearted as usual, and Taeyong doesn’t mind. He’ll let himself have this one more night before he brings up the inevitable of ending their extra _activities_. The crowd is back at the end of the fair, people waiting around to reunite with friends, or hugging their goodbyes. A row of bowties are displayed at the store Doyoung’s about to pass, and Taeyong tugs on his elbow to slow him down,

“Hold on,” he points at them, and Doyoung nods, turning around to join him by the stand. “I want to get some for my interns at the lab.”

“You have interns?” Doyoung picks up a light grey bowtie with red stripes, placing it back into the pile when Taeyong rejects his choice.

“Yeah,” Taeyong studies the various colours and designs. He chooses a suave emerald green for Minhyung, “Just a few.”

“Didn’t you say you worked in a lab?”

“Mm,” he picks a dandy plaid one for Yukhei. “A science lab,” a simplified term.

“You have interns for that?” Doyoung laughs, and Taeyong raises his brows, but he’s smiling too,

“Is that hard to believe?”

“Hard to believe they’re still alive,” Doyoung shows him a pastel pink one, and Taeyong thinks it would look good on Jihoon. “You must be a strict mentor.”

“What makes you say that?” Taeyong hands the three bowties to the lady, pulling out his wallet.

Doyoung shrugs, “Consider how often you tell me to keep my clothes off the floor, and I can imagine how spick and span your lab is.”

“A lab _has_ to be clean,” Taeyong rolls his eyes, “And I’ll have you know the three of them are collective cleaner than you when you’re working late on projects, leaving strays of packaged food _everywhere_.”

Before Doyoung can retort, the storekeeper holds the bag up, “Three for nine dollars, four for ten?”

Taeyong jerks his chin at the display, “Pick one.”

“For myself?” Doyoung blinks down at the bowties.

“Consider it a gift,” Taeyong holds a royal blue one to Doyoung’s collar. “For today’s dinner.”

“You’re kidding if you think a cup of melon juice and a cup of _chicken_ is dinner,” Doyoung snorts.

“Hey!” Taeyong narrows his eyes, pulling the bowtie away. “Dinner is dinner, right?”

“Right, right,” Doyoung laughs, picking a maroon coloured bowtie with green plaids. “What about this one?”

Taeyong lifts a hand to thumb at the material, brushing his knuckles against Doyoung’s neck, “I like it.”

“This one it is then,” the taller grins, handing it to the lady, who chucks it into the paper bag. Taeyong hands her the bill, and they leave the fair, his stomach full, but his heart dangerously fuller.

_Tonight, tonight. It must be tonight._

 

It takes Taeyong a thousand tries to get himself off his bed. Doyoung has been abnormally quiet in his own room since they’d gotten back from the fair, and the nausea in Taeyong’s throat doubles tenfold. It was a Friday night, and Friday nights meant that Doyoung would sought Taeyong out after dinner, peering into his room in just a thin shirt and boxers. Taeyong would welcome him with open arms, and the rest of the night would be spent surrounded in hushed moans and whispered pleas. The air is different tonight, especially after their not-date date, much different now that they’re back in the apartment, as if Taeyong’s just stepped into a different world.

Doyoung’s door is shut tight, and Taeyong feels like he’s banging on the door, when it was really just three gentle raps. He has the bowtie in his hands, a prepared excuse as to why he was the one at the door tonight. He hears Doyoung get up from his roller chair, and his heart quickens. The door opens smoothly, revealing Doyoung in the pineapple shirt from earlier, but his jeans are hanging on the back of his chair, leaving him in just a pair of black boxers.

“Here,” he holds the bowtie out, and Doyoung takes it with a small smile,

“Thanks.”

“Are you, uh – ” Taeyong’s cheeks are itching at the way Doyoung’s staring down at him, still undoubtedly surprised at the new intrusion of their routine habits (Doyoung in Taeyong’s room, never the other way around). “Are you busy?”

“No,” Doyoung’s hair flops as he shakes his head, stepping aside to let Taeyong into his room. He ducks his head and enters. It’s different than when Taeyong barges in to demand why Doyoung’s left the dirty dishes in the sink again, or when Taeyong peeks in to say that the pizza’s arrived. Doyoung’s room, being the spare room, is a little smaller than Taeyong’s, but he’s decorated the place with film posters and shelves of books to make it homey. It feels much more like an actual room than Taeyong’s poster-less walls and organized everything. “You can sit on the bed,” Doyoung says, shutting the door, when Taeyong waits in the centre, hands awkwardly by his side.

He sits on the bed gingerly, careful to not ruffle the sheets, careful not to think about how he wanted to just lie down and soak in Doyoung’s scent, something he’s thought of doing for a while. Doyoung takes the seat in his chair, leaving the gift on his desk, swivelling to look at Taeyong. The computer screen has a movie editing software open, from what Taeyong can make of, and it’s probably one of Doyoung’s project he’s been working on.

Taeyong takes a moment to look at Doyoung, under the bright light of his room, not the yellow light from the fair; his messy hair, the bags under his almond shaped eyes, the cute lines curving his nose, the dip of his cupid’s bow, his lips. _Oh_ , his _lips_. Over a month of _experimenting_ and Taeyong still hasn’t had the chance to press them together, thanks to his own doings. Yet, one of the things he was going to regret never being able to do that, once everything’s over.

It must’ve been a while since he’s last spoken, because Doyoung is looking at him with a worried frown,

“Everything okay?”

Taeyong fiddles with the frays on his boxers, “Uh, actually. I wanted to talk to you.”

Doyoung scratches his arm distractedly, “What about?”

 _Us?_ “Er, remember when we first started…” Taeyong focuses on the tip of Doyoung’s lip, unable to forge eye contact.

Doyoung sucks in a deep breath, sensing where it was going, “Yeah?”

“I said, uh,” Taeyong’s mouth is dry. “To mention if we were going to see other people?”

The silence is deafening. Doyoung’s lips part, and his chest is rising and falling so dramatically. Was he nervous? _No, why would he be._ He starts to pick at his lips, “Are you – do you – are you thinking of seeing someone else?”

Taeyong blanks, “No, I meant,” he shakes his head, confused. “You’ll tell me if you wanted to, right?”

Doyoung furrows his brows, “Yeah, but I don’t.”

 _Are you lying?_ Instead, “Okay, because I don’t want to be something on the side, I’m not – ”

“I’m not thinking seeing anyone now,” Doyoung says firmly. He scoots closer on his chair, until their knees are bumping together. “Are you?”

Taeyong gulps. This was not how he expected the conversation to go, “I’m not either.”

“Okay,” Doyoung says softly, leaning in close to kiss him, just inches above his quaking heart. He takes Taeyong’s hands in his, and Taeyong lets himself sway closer, enraptured. Doyoung kisses him several more times, toying with Taeyong’s hands as he did so. His hands are dry, and it’s a certain kind of creamy that makes Taeyong relax. He presses his lips particularly earnest once before he pulls back, wetting his lips with a swipe of the tongue, “Actually, I wanted to talk to you too.”

Taeyong’s ears are already burning. He parrots, “What about?”

Doyoung gets off the chair, and he towers over Taeyong for a second before sinking down onto the bed, “I wanted to ask if I – if it was okay – if I…” He looks like he’s about to pop a vein. Taeyong squeezes his hands reassuringly, bolder now that he’s gotten a bit of his worries off his shoulders. Doyoung’s hands are ice cold when he asks,

“Can I touch you?”

Taeyong must’ve heard him wrong, “What?”

Doyoung looks up, “ – touch you,” he croaks. “Can I touch you?”

“Haven’t you already been doing that?” Taeyong deadpans. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean,” Doyoung inches closer, and Taeyong resists the urge to tip away. “Like where you – touch me?”

Was he afraid? What was Doyoung waiting for? A ten-page contract to be drafted, initialled and signed by the both of them under the presence of twelve impartial witnesses?

Taeyong shakes Doyoung’s hand off his, carding his fingers through Doyoung’s hair. Doyoung stares at him cautiously, unblinking, “I thought it was a given that you could.”

Doyoung’s hands trail up Taeyong’s thighs, cold hands on hot skin, _finally_. He sighs quietly, “The first night, I – when I moved, you – ” Doyoung picks at the fray Taeyong was fiddling with, “I thought it hurt, I didn’t know what to do, I – ”

“I’ll tell you if it hurts,” Taeyong cuts in before Doyoung’s words can pump more ego into his inflating heart. His hand leaves Doyoung’s hair to cup his cheek, trying to get Doyoung to look up at him, but the boy seemed too distracted by newfound territory, grazing his fingers along Taeyong’s inner thighs. Motivated by tonight thanks to his moment of bravery, he asks, “Is that why you don’t touch me?”

Doyoung looks up sharply, eyes dilating, “I – ”

“You don’t have to,” Taeyong chews on his inner cheek. “Touch me, I mean. I was just – wondering.”

“I wanted to,” Doyoung hands crawl under Taeyong’s underwear, pausing to give Taeyong enough time to refuse if he wanted to. “I didn’t know if I – if you wanted me to.”

Taeyong wants to jump out the window,

“Okay,” he whispers, and Doyoung’s fingers caress the dip where his hips and thighs meet, alarmingly close. “Touch me.”

The invitation is met with a sharp inhale, and Doyoung’s lips are on his neck. Taeyong allows Doyoung to tip him down onto his bed,

“Wait,” Taeyong pushes himself onto his elbows. Doyoung squeezes his hips, an unheard objection. “You, uh, you want to do this here?” _In your bed?_

Doyoung glances around the room, “What’s wrong?”

Taeyong’s cheeks heat up. Doyoung stares up at him from between his legs, and his hands are still under Taeyong’s shorts, “I mean, it’s just – we’re always in my bed.” He adds, “Or on the couch.”

Doyoung rests his chin on Taeyong’s chest, tired from having to hold his head up, “It’s not a problem, you in my bed.”

“Oh.”

“Anything else?” Doyoung grins up at him, hands already beginning to massage his thighs.

Taeyong scrunches his nose at his cheekiness, “Excited, are we?”

Doyoung’s brows smoothen out. He kisses Taeyong’s jaw, murmuring against the skin, “I am.”

When Doyoung pulls away, they help each other of their clothes, and Taeyong ignores the way the pineapple on Doyoung’s shirt remind him of the park that afternoon. It’s slower than their usual pace, Doyoung being more hands on (thank _god_ ) this time round, slowly working down Taeyong’s body. For the first time, Taeyong’s on his back, and Doyoung’s above him. He turns his head to bury his nose into Doyoung’s pillow, taking the chance to sneakily inhale several lungs full of Doyoung’s innate flavour, while the other left kisses over his hipbones. Taeyong is wrenched out of his secret quest when Doyoung noses at his dick, half hard and under close scrutiny.

“ _Ah_ ,” he moans, grabbing the striped sheets in place of Doyoung’s purple hair, afraid he might yank too hard. Doyoung rises to his knees to pull a pillow from behind Taeyong, motioning for Taeyong to lift his hips. Stunned, the words don’t form in time for Taeyong to ask _where_ did he learn how to do that (or maybe girls liked that too, he didn’t know) because Doyoung is spreading his legs open, blatantly staring. A wave of sheepishness washes over him, and Taeyong tries to shy away from the perlustration, but Doyoung slots himself back down between Taeyong, his lips on Taeyong’s chin for a second, then he’s inches away, holding himself up by the arms. Taeyong dips his head further into Doyoung’s pillow, and a smile threatens to surface, feeling a lot warmer with Doyoung around him. He expects Doyoung to say something playful, following his previous comment but,

“I’m nervous.”

Taeyong lets himself smile, because how many times have they done it now, and he was still _nervous_?

“You don’t have to – ”

“I want to,” Doyoung thumps against Taeyong, knocking the wind out of him, burrowing his face into Taeyong’s neck. “I want it to feel good.”

Taeyong thinks that he’ll never not listen to Taeil ever again. He runs his hands down Doyoung’s back, “Do you have lube?”

Doyoung nods, but he doesn’t move until Taeyong repeats his question. Rummaging through a box under his bed, Doyoung brandishes a brand-new bottle, plastic still over the cap. As he peels at it, Taeyong recognises it to be the same water-based one _he_ used. When he brings it up, Doyoung answers with a simple shrug,

“I wanted to use something you’d be comfortable with.”

The ember in Taeyong is sparked into a raging fire when he entertains the thought that Doyoung cared more than just the surface. Doyoung takes a long time, fumbling with the plastic, exhaling in relief when he finally gets it off. He uncaps it, squeezing enough onto his fingers. He looks at Taeyong for permission, and Taeyong nods, letting him run his hands down his chest and torso. Doyoung busies himself, tracing mindless patterns into Taeyong’s hips with his clean hand, spreading Taeyong’s legs open with his elbows.

Taeyong fixes his eyes to the ceiling, waiting for Doyoung’s fingers with bated breath. It’s cold, the first touch, but Taeyong tries not to flinch, unwilling to scare Doyoung off. He moans in appreciation, in hopes Doyoung would take it as encouragement. He does, rubbing him with increased pressure, dipping just the tip of his finger in, and then out again. Taeyong closes his eyes, hands finding purchase in the sheets under him. Doyoung’s finger is thinner than his own, and he pushes his finger in to the second knuckle. Taeyong gasps, purely at the breach, and his eyes snap open, doubly surprised to see the concentration in Doyoung’s face. He alternates nodding and blinking, and Doyoung pushes his finger all the way in.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, scooting upwards to plant his hand beside Taeyong’s waist.

“No,” Taeyong sighs when Doyoung curls his finger, pushing in and out of him, an easy glide. “One more.”

Doyoung pulls out, gently nudging back in with two fingers, scissoring him slowly. The second finger adds a burn to the stretch, and it takes Taeyong a little longer to get used to it, inching down to meet with Doyoung’s slow pace. He moans, closing his eyes again to bask in the fact that Doyoung’s fingers are in him, working him for the very first time. Releasing his hold on the sheets, Taeyong runs his hands over Doyoung’s chest, as far down as he can reach, and then up again. Doyoung groans when ghosts over his nipples, sensitive. He slips another finger in when Taeyong’s bucking up, thoroughly distracted, fingers curling and knuckles dragging across Taeyong’s walls. For the first time, _oh,_ one of many first times the night has bestowed upon them, Taeyong sees white when Doyoung unwittingly brushes against his sweet spot. He’s grazed over it before, but it’s _different_ when it’s just fingers, pressure harder, more _precise_.

“Down,” Taeyong rasps, lifting his left leg to dig hard into the bed. Doyoung looks up from marvelling at his crotch, “Right, a little.”

“What?” Doyoung touches his thighs softly, fingers burning into Taeyong.

“Right,” Taeyong smacks his palm hard against the bed, craving the touch again. “ _Right._ ”

“I don’t – I,” Doyoung is flustered, and Taeyong groans loudly, frustrated. He pushes himself to sit up, forehead knocking painfully into Doyoung’s. “I – ” He’s about to pull away when Taeyong grabs Doyoung’s wrist roughly, guiding him until –

“ _Ah!_ ” Taeyong convulses when the pad of Doyoung’s fingers find his prostate. Taeyong pushes Doyoung’s fingers down again, and the sensation it sends to his groin and hips and limbs makes him shiver. Precome starts to leak. “H – here,” he inhales sharply, cracking his eyes open to look Doyoung in the eye. Doyoung looks nothing but overwhelmed, but he’s panting heavily, and a line of drool threatens to spill. Before Taeyong can stop himself, he licks the line of saliva off Doyoung’s chin, still careful to stay away from his lips. “Got it?”

Doyoung nods unevenly, and Taeyong gets onto his knees, spreading his legs apart so that their legs interlocked. He rests Doyoung’s dick on his thigh, hardening steadily. Reaching for the lube, Taeyong shakily squeezes some onto his hands before wrapping his fingers around Doyoung, whining at the touch. Taeyong curls his free arm around Doyoung’s neck, burying his face into Doyoung's shoulder,

“Come on, then. Touch me.”

He strokes Doyoung quick, and Doyoung finger fucks him from underneath, relentlessly pressing against Taeyong now that he’s found _it_. Taeyong humps down onto Doyoung’s fingers, moans escalating by pitch until it tunes into whines, loud and needy. It’s chaotic, the way his hips jerk madly at every push and press, and his work on Doyoung’s dick is messy, but it works. Doyoung bites into his shoulder, licking and sucking that’s sure to leave marks. His holds Taeyong’s hips steady, making sure he doesn’t fall over. The bed creaks under their passion, but it’s nothing to the way Taeyong’s mewling,

“ _Doyoung_ ,” he chokes out, incredibly close. He’s never let himself moan the name, something he’s wanted to use to keep a distance, and it feels so _good_ saying it now, Taeyong doesn’t hold himself back. He repeats it like a mantra, and every syllable edges him close, close, closer, “Doyoung, Do _young,_ I – _a_ _h! –_ _Doyoung –_ ”

Attentive, Doyoung presses hard against his prostate, thumb against his perineum, and Taeyong jolts, coming erratically. Doyoung comes in Taeyong’s hand, a loud groan in Taeyong’s ear. Shaking through his aftershocks, Taeyong leans his weight onto Doyoung, trying to calm down from his high. Doyoung takes his fingers out carefully, and Taeyong whimpers, but his hand is on Taeyong’s dick the next second, coaxing him. When he _does_ manage to relax, Taeyong kisses Doyoung under the ear, peppering kisses down his jaw. He pulls away when Doyoung cups his jaw with a clean hand, eyes still blown. Doyoung licks his lips, grazing his thumb over Taeyong’s.

“Was it good?” Doyoung mumbles, almost incoherent, blushing red. “For you?”

Taeyong presses a kiss to his Adam’s apple, “It was.”

“Okay,” Doyoung sighs into his shoulder, and Taeyong thinks it might be best if he didn’t stay the night in Doyoung’s room, no matter how much he wanted to. Not before Doyoung says something more that might – “T– that makes me – I – I’m glad.”

 _Ah_.

“Doyoung, you – ”

Sensing his uneasiness, Doyoung looks up. Taeyong’s words catch in his throat, and he hushes when Doyoung leans in to press a kiss to his cheek. It’s levelled territory; not the lips, nothing sexual. Not the lips, but close enough. Doyoung’s fingers smooths gently over his jaw, caressing his ear, sweeping strands of black hair away. He stares at Taeyong, and it’s anxiousness he can make out, but Taeyong know that there’s far more than he can see. A kiss to the cheek, not the lips. A kiss to the cheek, not the neck or the chest. A kiss to the cheek, a loophole in their unwritten contract.

Before Doyoung can spout an apology, Taeyong kisses him back, soft and sweet, on the high of his cheek.

“Let me help you clean up tonight,” Doyoung mumbles, and Taeyong can’t help but nod, not wanting the night to end just yet. Doyoung’s eyes light up at that, never having granted permission like this before. He helps Taeyong carefully out of bed, holding him by the arms. Under the fluorescent lights of the bathroom, Taeyong feels like a lab rat under a microscope, waiting to be assessed and tagged. Doyoung guides him into the shower, and Taeyong follows wordlessly, moving on autopilot. Everything’s kicked up ten notches in an instant. Taeyong’s nervous in bed for a second, fiddling with a bowtie in hand, and he’s in the shower with Doyoung in the next, hands trailing over his body.

“Can I tell you something?” Doyoung says, reaching past Taeyong to pump some body wash into his hands.

“Not a question this time?” Taeyong doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Torn between wanting to help Doyoung out and wanting to build the wall back up, he rests his hands on Doyoung’s shoulders, keeping still.

Doyoung laughs faintly, “No.” He takes a step closer to Taeyong, both hands sliding down his sides.

“What is it?” Taeyong focuses on the tile just above Doyoung’s head.

“I like – ” Doyoung starts,

Taeyong’s heart drops to the ground and flies up to hit the ceiling,

“ – touching you.”

He laughs to rid the wired static between them, “You like touching me?”

“I do,” Doyoung squeezes his waist to prove a point.

Taeyong has no right answer, no right reaction for the confession.

“What are you thinking about?” Doyoung returns to his full height, standing close to Taeyong, faces merely inches apart. His mind whirls – _Tell me, does this mean you want something more? More than just nights together? Tell me, is it good for you, like it’s good for me? More than just touch and taste? Spell it out for me, because I’m afraid to hear anything else._

Instead, but honest, “You.”

Doyoung radiates happiness. Taeyong feels the nausea in his stomach let up a little.

 

It’s a change of setting, and Taeyong expected nothing from the morning after. He’s awake before Doyoung this time, too wrapped up in his thoughts to let sleep consume him. _We need to talk about it,_ he thinks with resolution. The image of Sejeong on Doyoung’s arm is not one he can easily ignore, not when he knows how sought after Doyoung is. They didn’t have to study on the same campus for Taeyong to know of Doyoung’s popularity amongst the film faculty; charming and witty. He refuses to let the walls around him come down so easily, not with so much on the line, so much at risk. Doyoung’s words, to Taeyong’s ears, skirted around the edges. There was no mention of exclusivity, and Taeyong wasn’t interested in anything other than that. How should the conversation begin? _I want something more._ Or, _Sorry, I know I said I was okay with this but I’m not._ It’s all too confusing, all too _much_. Moving at the speed of light with too many clauses and reservations, Taeyong has never been put in a situation like this.

The television is tuned to a melodrama, not enough to catch Taeyong’s attention. What does catch his attention, is Doyoung walking out of his room, already dressed in a black shirt, flannel and jeans. Taeyong’s phone reads _9:32AM_ ,

“Good morning?” Doyoung raises his brows when he notices Taeyong staring.

“Morning,” Taeyong’s reply is breathless (when is it not when Doyoung is so good at taking his breath away?) “Going out?”

“Back to school,” Doyoung nods, sifting through his wallet, doing a pat down to check for his phone and keys. “Club practice. Ah, why do I feel like I’m forgetting something…”

“Jacket,” Taeyong reminds him. “It’s cold out today.”

Doyoung grins down at him, and he covers the distance so quick, Taeyong doesn’t have the chance to react when Doyoung plants a kiss on his cheek. The look on his face must’ve been nothing but horror because Doyoung’s expression falls,

“Oh. Sorry, I just – last night, I thought – ”

Taeyong reaches for his shoulder, “No, it’s okay.”

Doyoung eases a little, waiting for more,

“Come here,” Taeyong manages to whisper, and Doyoung tilts forward, letting Taeyong press a kiss to his cheek too, chaste. His cheeks are a little warm, and Taeyong’s heart stutters. Doyoung cards his fingers through Taeyong’s hair, thumbing the hairline gently. He keens into the touch, “Will I see you tonight?”

“Yeah,” Doyoung pulls away. “Yeah, I’ll see you tonight.”

“Okay,” Taeyong smiles weakly, and he lets Doyoung leave.

_Tonight, tonight. we’ll talk about it tonight._

 

   x

 

 _Tonight_ doesn’t come easy.

 

15NOV [03:21] **taeyong** : is doyoung with you guys?  
15NOV [03:23] **taeyong** : taeil?  
15NOV [03:26] **taeyong** : he’s not home and it’s late  
15NOV [03:26] **taeyong** : i don’t have his club friends’ numbers  
15NOV [03:26] **taeyong** : does youngho?  
15NOV [03:27] **taeyong** : taeil?

 

Taeyong is seconds from running out of the apartment to find him. His throat and neck are prickling, tingling, and he knows something bad is going to happen. Doyoung would text him if something went wrong, right? _No. No, he wouldn’t. Why would he? There’s no need for him to report to Taeyong_. He scurries into his room to wrestle on a pair of sweatpants, grabbing his wallet and keys off his table. Grabbing his jacket off one of the dining chairs, he’s about to slip on his shoes when the door flies open,

Doyoung is flanked by Yuta and Jaehyun, looking positively _sick_. His complexion is _grey,_ and even in the dim hallway, Taeyong can make out that he’s sweating through his shirt. Taeyong wants to drop everything in his hands and take the boy in a hug, but his friends are staring straight at him, panting heavily,

“W – what happened?” Taeyong steps away, kicking his shoes to the side. He holds the door open to let Yuta and Jaehyun wrangle Doyoung’s dead weight into the living room.

“ – passed out!” Jaehyun huffs. Taeyong shuts the door to keep the warm air in, and he skitters behind them, digging his nails into his palm to keep himself from losing it. He’s never seen Doyoung _this_ sick. Sure, Doyoung’s had mild colds that reduced him to a whining mess, but never –

“He passed out?” Taeyong squeaks. “Should he go to the hospital? I – ”

“He just drank too much,” Yuta snorts, releasing his hold on Doyoung to let him flop onto the couch, groaning loudly. Taeyong smells the alcohol now. _Oh_. “Think it’s all the stress getting to him, he really overdid it today. He’s been at rehearsals for the Christmas concert, like, six times a week?”

Jaehyun shakes his head, “He really wanted that solo slot this time too. And that film project he’s working on?”

Yuta nods solemnly.

Jaehyun continues, “I don’t know what that Jung Minhyuk kid was doing around Doyoung’s hard drive, but he did _something –_ ”

 _Who? What?_ “Huh?” Taeyong says helplessly, alternating between looking at Jaehyun and Yuta. He can’t look at Doyoung. They stare at him incredulously, like he knew absolutely nothing (which was true),

“What do you mean _‘huh’_?” Yuta sneers, eyes flashing, infuriated. He smells like alcohol too. They all do. Did they go to a party? “You practically _live_ with him! Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how stressed he’s been getting?”

Taeyong can’t breathe. He’s never _talked_ to Doyoung about things. There was never a reason to, and Doyoung never shared, so Taeyong never probed. He didn’t think he had the _right_ to probe. What were they? Merely acquaintances with a thing on the side? _No, Doyoung said –_ Doyoung never said anything. Taeyong had so much to think of on his own, he never thought to ask about Doyoung. Should he have asked? He’s never had the chance to, had he? Doyoung seemed fine at home; cooking and watching cartoons. What was Taeyong missing? Why didn’t he just _ask?_ Weren’t things perfectly fine twelve hours ago?

Everything’s a bolt from the blue.

He refuses to cry in front of Yuta, not even when he says,

“I knew we should have taken him back to Sejeong’s instead,” Yuta grits out, and he looks down at Doyoung, as if he was really thinking about hauling him back out the door. “She offered to take him back, but _you_ – ” he’s glaring at Jaehyun now.

“Hey,” Jaehyun touches his elbow gently, eyes soft. “Doyoung would want to come home, you know that.”

Yuta snorts, “Home? We shouldn’t be leaving him with someone who can’t take care of him, Jaehyun!”

Taeyong’s really going to cry now. His legs are weak, and he wants to fight back, but with what?

“Stop it,” Jaehyun glances at Taeyong. He grabs Yuta’s hand and interlaces their fingers, a valiant effort at trying to calm him down, “You and I both know – ”

“All they’re doing is _fuc – ”_

“Not,” Jaehyun pulls harder, until Yuta’s shoulder slams into his chest. “Not here.”

 _What?_ Taeyong’s barely paying attention to their argument, because Doyoung is mumbling in his sleep.

“I know you’re mad at how he’s handling things, but you can’t blame…” Jaehyun’s calming voice drains into white noise when he coaxes Yuta out of the living room. Only when they’re hidden in the kitchen does Taeyong scramble to his feet and to Doyoung’s side, gingerly pressing the back of his hand to Doyoung’s forehead, _He’s burning up._ At a loss, he cups Doyoung’s face in his hands, trying to bring the temperature down with his cold hands. Doyoung stirs, but his eyes remain screwed shut. A croak,

“Taeyong?”

He panics, “Yes. Yes? Doyoung, yes, are you okay?”

“M’fine,” Doyoung sidles to lean into Taeyong’s chest, hands coming up, blindly searching for Taeyong’s, exhaling at the chill. “I’m fine.”

“You’re drunk,” it comes out as a whisper. Taeyong doesn’t want to bother Jaehyun and Yuta with their argument in the kitchen.

Doyoung sighs, “I am?”

“Yes,” Taeyong is relieved, but he can still Yuta and Jaehyun, and he knows it’s not over, not just yet. “Can you make it to your room?”

Doyoung whines, “No. Just stay here. With me.”

Taeyong’s hands are shaking, “You – no, I – your friends, they – ”

“I don’t care,” Doyoung buries his face into Taeyong. “I want you with me.”

 _He’s delirious_.

“We’re going to make a move,” Jaehyun is speaking to him again. Taeyong looks up, and his face flushes at the position they’re in. But Jaehyun is kinder than Yuta is, he thinks, so he says nothing about it. Yuta is already half out the door, expression spiteful. “Do you have your phone on you? Want my number?”

Taeyong nods stiffly. The whine Doyoung makes when he moves away is embarrassingly loud, so he sits back down quickly to pacify him. Doyoung immediately latches onto his waist, satisfied. Jaehyun makes quick work of sending himself a message, and they’re gone, leaving just Doyoung in his arms. Dazed, Taeyong sits like that for a while more. He runs his fingers through Doyoung’s hair, therapeutic, trying to sort his thoughts out. A party? They went to a party? Did Doyoung meet girls there? _Sejeong was there, they must’ve been together._ Just like how he saw them in the park. His heart drops. _Who am I kidding?_ There’s no need to talk, there’s no need to do anything when all the signs are saying that this isn’t _right_. Taeil’s right, it’s a bad idea. Yuta’s right, he doesn’t know anything about Doyoung. _Doyoung_ ’s right, this is just an experiment, all just temporary. A tear escapes, and Taeyong swipes it away before it can reach his cheeks.

Nothing to cry about. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

“Hey,” Taeyong sniffs, shaking Doyoung gently. “You need to get to bed.”

Doyoung groans, “Leave me be.”

Taeyong makes a move to get up again, but Doyoung’s arms tighten around his waist, digging his face into Taeyong’s belly,

“No, no. I was just kidding, don’t leave me.”

“Come on,” Taeyong winces at Doyoung’s vulnerability. “You need to get changed.”

Doyoung grumbles, but he lifts his head to kiss Taeyong’s cheek, “Will you help me?”

“Doyoung, I don’t think – ”

“I’m sick.”

“You’re _drunk._ ”

“I feel sick,” he pouts, and Taeyong’s resolve crumbles,

“Okay.”

Getting Doyoung into his room proves to be a far more difficult task than Taeyong expected. Additionally, the whiskey mixed beer, of what Taeyong can barely make out, has Doyoung thrown into hysterics, laughing uncontrollably. It makes taking Doyoung’s sweat soaked clothes off him a task meant for more than three people. Doyoung dissolves into fits of giggles every two seconds, like he was a young boy all over again, boyish grin and innocent smiles.

“Taeyong?” Doyoung sighs contentedly, and for a moment, he thinks the boy has gotten better, now that he’s clad in dry clothes, tucked into bed. “Are you still there?”

Exhausted, “Yes, Doyoung, I’m still here.”

“Okay,” Doyoung hums. “Just checking.”

Silence. Taeyong quietly picks up Doyoung’s dirty clothes, and he’s near the door when,

“Taeyong? Are you still there?”

He keeps mum, hoping it’s just a bout of delirity, that Doyoung won’t spot him still hovering by the door, frozen like a hunted prey. Doyoung sits up in his bed, delight gone from his voice,

“Taeyong?”

Caving, he sighs, shutting the door, “I’m here, Doyoung. What is it?”

Doyoung visibly sighs in _relief_ , and Taeyong already knows it’s a bad idea to walk back to his bedside, “Can you stay here tonight?”

Taeyong hesitates. He’s never stayed. He shouldn’t stay.

“I’m drunk,” Doyoung states as if it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the room at the point. He’s looking up with Taeyong with such hope that Taeyong knows in his bones, it’s just the alcohol talking. He shouldn’t. Doyoung is drunk, he shouldn’t take advantage of it.

“Let me get you some water first,” he thinks quick. “You need to stay hydrated.”

Doyoung eyes him carefully, like he can see through Taeyong’s plans, “Okay.” He’s sure to add, “But come back, okay?”

He is weak, “Okay.”

The lights in the kitchen aren’t enough to wake Taeyong from his stupor. He pours Doyoung a cup of iced water, and just as he’s about to close the door, he spots the bottle of honey. Searching high and low, he can’t find the Yuzu syrup anywhere. Deflated, he returns to the room, water in hand. Doyoung looks noticeably excited to see him in the room, and he takes the water with murmured thanks. Chugging the drink, Taeyong waits by the bedside. He should leave.

Doyoung reads his mind, “Can you stay?”

“I don’t think – ”

“Please?” Doyoung makes a show of coughing. Taeyong grabs the cup from his hands,

“I’ll get you more water, and then I’ll come and stay with you, okay?”

Doyoung’s eyes are the brightest things in the room, “Okay.”

 

Taeyong doesn’t go back. He leaves instead, out into the night, with his parka zipped to his chin, and his hood over his head. He cries, and the tears are biting, pinching his cheeks whenever a gust of wind rolls by. There’s no one on the streets, and he doesn’t wait for the light to turn to cross them. Nothing can help him sort his thoughts out. He should talk to Doyoung, that’s the rational decision. _But I don’t want to_. Why not? _I’m afraid. What if he doesn’t want me?_ The streets are familiar, and he turns left and right without much thought. He knows where he’s going. _Doyoung doesn’t like me, he just likes it when we fuck, just taste and touch and nothing more._ Anything else, Taeyong decides, is a figment of his own imagination, just like it’s been since the start.

He knocks on the door thrice. And then again when no one answers. And then _again_.

“Yeah, okay, _hello_ , good morning – ”

“I need a place to sleep tonight.”

Taeil blinks, taking in the sight of his best friend crying at his door step at four in the morning. Four in the morning when he leaves Doyoung drunk and delirious in their apartment seven blocks down. Four in the morning when Taeil ushers him into the apartment quietly, so as to not rouse Youngho from his sleep. Four in the morning when Taeyong decides he can’t do this anymore. Four in the morning when Taeyong rightfully gives up, as he did once before.

After getting the gist of what has happened, Taeil hides Taeyong in their spare bedroom with a cup of instant hot chocolate. He moves to wake Youngho up, because Doyoung is still drunk after all, and Taeyong’s left him alone in the apartment,

“What?” Youngho’s voice is hoarse from the room next door. The worry for his best friend is evident, even in a haze of sleep, “Drunk? Did he get admitted?”

“No,” Taeyong can imagine Taeil on the bed, hurrying Youngho into appropriate clothing. “He’s at the apartment, but no one’s home.”

A rustle of clothes, “What?” Youngho sounds more awake now, sharp, and Taeyong shrinks in the darkness. “Where’s Taeyong?”

“Late night at the lab,” Taeil lies. Taeyong winces, sincerely apologetic. “He can’t leave.”

They’re already walking down the hall, and Youngho is incredulous, “What time is it? Is he even allowed on campus?”

“I don’t know,” Taeil says softly. “Will you text me when you get there? Let me know if he’s okay?”

“You’re not coming with me?” Youngho questions. Taeyong creeps to the door, taking a peek out into the living room. Youngho’s clad in sweats and a hoodie, shrugging on a black parka. Taeil moves to grab a beanie to tug over Youngho’s head, and he has to tiptoe to kiss Youngho sweet. Youngho circles an arm around Taeil’s waist, and Taeyong’s heart clenches at the sight.

“I have an early day tomorrow,” Taeil straightens Youngho’s jacket. “Be safe, okay? It’s late.”

“As if anyone’s going to jump me,” Youngho manages to joke. “I tower over half the people here, Taeil.”

“Yeah, but I love you,” Taeil kisses him again, and Youngho hugs him slow. “So, be careful.”

“I’ll text you,” Youngho stumbles into his shoes. “I love you too.”

“Mm,” Taeil watches Youngho leave with a smile. Taeyong’s about to inch his door open when Youngho sidles back into view, kissing Taeil again. “Go!” Taeil laughs, and Youngho laughs too, leaving hurriedly, for real this time. Sighing, Taeil shuts the door.

“Sorry,” is the first thing Taeyong says when Taeil flips the switch to drown the apartment in light, and he slinks out of the room. “I didn’t mean to have you lie to Youngho, it’s – ”

“It’s okay,” Taeil says unexpectedly. He motions for Taeyong to sit on their couch. Fumbling with the TV remote, he puts on a documentary, and they both stare at the screen for a good twenty minutes, not talking, until, “You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?”

Taeyong sighs, “That I have to talk to Doyoung.”

“Yeah,” Taeil twiddles with his phone. Taeyong sees that he’s only now getting his texts from earlier tonight. “You need to tell him how you feel.”

He frowns, “What if – ”

“It’s got to be better than,” he gives Taeyong a once over, “ _this_!” Taeil exhales loudly, disappointed, “Doyoung deserves more than just you talking to yourself in your mind.”

“I – ”

“He’s a nice boy,” Taeil says. “Please don’t hurt him, Taeyong, I don’t even think he knows what’s going on. Don’t you think you should at least try and talk to him about it?”

Taeyong looks blankly at the cup in his hands, biting on his lip, “He went to a party today.” Taeil closes his eyes, wincing. “That Sejeong girl was there.”

“I swear, this is – ”

His phone rings, loud and jarring. The name _love_ pops up on the screen, along with one of Youngho and Taeil’s pictures together. Taeil looks to Taeyong, and he asks,

“Can you… put him on speaker?”

Taeil obliges, hitting the button, “Youngho? Everything okay?”

“Hey, babe,” Taeil doesn’t even blush at the name now. “He’s fine, I mean, other than being stupid drunk. He keeps asking why Taeyong isn’t back yet? Do you want to call him? Maybe something happened in the lab?”

Doyoung is shouting in the background, “He’s not in the lab, I told you! He was just here, he said he was going to come back after getting water!”

Youngho holds the phone away from his face, snorting, “Yeah, he had to go find a spring to get you that crystal water you wanted, that’s why he isn’t back yet!” His voice is clear again, “Do you want to call Taeyong?”

“Yes!” Doyoung, again.

“No,” Taeil answers calmly. “He has enough on his plate lately,” technically, not a lie.

“Okay, I – hey!” There’s a loud smack and Doyoung yelps. “Doyoung!”

“What?” Taeil asks. Taeyong holds his breath, and they share worried looks. “Youngho?”

There’s another thwack, and Doyoung howls in pain, “He keeps trying to run into Taeyong’s room, I – stop _that_. You’re drunk, Doyoung, you – _hey!_ I’m going to hit you _again_ if you try to get past me.”

“Is he in there?” Doyoung asks, close to the phone.

Youngho coughs, “Your breath stinks, man, what the _fu_ – I said he’s not in there – _stop,_ Doyoung, why are you even looking for him? Go back to your room. Else I’m calling Gongmyung.”

Doyoung starts to whine, “No, I just – ”

“Or else!” Youngho repeats, and there’s a shuffle of feet, before all is calm again. Youngho huffs, “This isn’t the worst I’ve seen him, but bringing Gongmyung up is a surefire way to get him to sit still. I’ll stay until he goes to bed. Or at least until Taeyong comes home.”

“You don’t have to,” it’s Doyoung again, and Taeyong buries his face in his hands. “Taeyong said he’d be coming back.”

“Yeah, okay, buddy, whatever you want,” Youngho laughs, and it sounds nearly morbid with how tense the situation is on Taeil’s end. “Will you be okay alone?”

“Yeah, of course,” Taeil clears his throat. “Just stay until he falls asleep. We don’t know what time Taeyong will get back.”

“Okay,” Youngho agrees easily.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Did you just say you love me!” Doyoung yells from the back.

“It’s four in the morning and I’m standing in your bedroom, Kim Doyoung, what do you think?”

The line goes dead, and Taeil puts the phone away.

“I’ll talk to him in the morning,” Taeyong says before Taeil can even think it.

“Okay,” Taeil grabs the remote, surfing through channels. “Call me, if you need me.”

“Thanks.”

 

When the sun begins to rise, near six in the morning, Taeyong leaves the apartment, before Youngho comes home. Taeil is unwilling to let him leave after having absolutely zero minutes of sleep, but Taeyong insists that the cold air will wake him up either way. And it does, a little. It’s too early to go back, not with the possibility of Youngho still being there, so Taeyong takes a detour to the nearest Target, expectedly empty. He roams the aisles mindlessly, eyes skimming the brands of crackers and boxes of cereals. It’s a little after seven in the morning when he’s done with his third round,

 

15NOV [07:04] **taeil** : youngho’s home  
15NOV [07:04] **taeil** : text me when you’re home  
15NOV [07:07] **taeyong** : on my way now  
15NOV [07:07] **taeil** : okay

 

“Hey there! Is there anything I can help you with?”

Taeyong stares blankly at the boy standing before him, red shirt terribly bright. He has a phone in his hand, and he’s smiling, yet there’s concern (or maybe, fear?) on his face. It must be odd, catching someone near dead roaming around.

Taeyong swallows, throat dry from disuse, “I was looking for, uh, Yuzu syrup?”

“Aisle seven,” the boy answers promptly. “Do you need any help getting it?”

“No,” he doesn’t even try to smile. “I’ll get it myself, thanks.”

“Okay, I’ll see you at the cash register!”

It occurs to Taeyong then that they might be the only two people on the floor. Not wanting to cause worry to any more people, he drifts to aisle seven. Someone walks by the row he’s in when he’s looking up at the wide assortment of bottled citrus flavourings, and honestly, who on earth would need such a large selection of this, it’s barely –

“Taeyong? Is that you?”

_Oh, no. No, no, it isn’t me._

It, however, is Sejeong. She has a cart in her hands, and her smile is wide, _oh_ , so wide for seven in the morning.

“Good morning,” Taeyong smiles, because this girl could very well be the girl Doyoung’s going to marry one day, and he doesn’t want to make a horrible impression, despite his current state of mind. “What, uh, what’re you doing out so early?”

“Early riser,” she shrugs. “And I was just heading to your place!” Sejeong has a beautiful blush on. Taeyong thinks it’s pretty. “Yuta texted me last night, saying Doyoung was pretty wasted last night, so I thought I’d come over.”

“And?” It’s hostile. “I mean,” he laughs, “Of course, yes, yeah, I – he’s pretty drunk.”

Sejeong laughs in return, “I thought I’d cook you guys some breakfast! Doyoung’s always saying how you’re out late at the lab? I thought it’d be nice to having something home cooked for a change?”

Taeyong doesn’t mention that they eat Doyoung’s cooking almost every day, and that they’re _fine_ , they don’t _need_ someone to – “Of course, yeah,” he shuts his brain off. “That sounds really good, thank you.”

“And what are you doing out?” Sejeong looks at the row of syrups he’s stuck at.

“Oh,” Taeyong’s brain fizzles. “I just wanted to get some syrup thing,” he grabs a random one, _Yuzu_ on the front in pastel orange, with a matching orange cap. “I’m about to leave, but we can leave together?”

Sejeong grins, “That would be great! I’m done here too, I’ve pretty much got all I need for a top-class breakfast!”

Taeyong wants to throw up, “Alright, let’s go then?”

“Yeah!”

Taeyong gets to learn that Sejeong is also an arts’ major, something in photography, and that her favourite kind of photography is film (with the cameras, not the video). He learns that Sejeong is extremely nice, and she makes him laugh with badly timed jokes. She fills the gaps of silence that Taeyong leaves easily, with stories about her siblings, about how she loves them so much, even though they’re all a bunch of rascals. She shares that university had been pretty tough on her because she was two years late, making her a freshman even though she was only a year younger than Taeyong. It wasn’t difficult education wise (Taeyong learns that she’s _very_ smart), but the girls in her class liked different things, talked about different things. Vocal club, in her own words, was her saviour.

“I’ve always clicked better with boys,” Sejeong says, albeit embarrassed, and Taeyong listens attentively. They’re climbing up the stairs to the apartment, and it’s nice to have nothing important to think about. Listening to Sejeong talk endlessly helps drown everything out, no matter how close they are to his impending doom. “Jaehyun and Doyoung were really nice to me during first practice, and it’s just nice to hang around them. Yuta, too!”

Taeyong wasn’t sure about Yuta, but he figures he could hang around Jaehyun, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Sejeong nods enthusiastically. “Doyoung helped a lot when I was struggling with my piece for the Christmas concert, even though he had his own to worry about.”

“Did he?”

Sejeong hums agreeably, “We met up a lot just so that he could help me with my pitch, it was really rough for a while there, but he helped me through it, so I’m eternally grateful!”

“That’s nice to hear.”

“You’re coming for the concert, right?”

Taeyong pauses on a step, “Oh. No, uh, Doyoung, he didn’t mention it to me or anything, so – ”

Sejeong is the epitome of positivity, “I’m sure it’s just because he hasn’t had the time to! He’s already got front row seats for you, Taeil and his boyfriend, Youngho? Was it?”

 _Doyoung never mentioned that. He doesn’t say a lot of things,_ “Ah, yes. That’s, er, that’s great. I’ll definitely be there, when he asks, if he asks.” He slots the key into the lock, and the apartment is quiet. Thank god. “I think, uh, I think he’s still asleep.”

“Oh,” Sejeong whispers.

“But come in, come in,” Taeyong holds the door open for her, even though the bags of groceries on his arms are killing him. “Make yourself at home.”

“Thank you,” Sejeong slips her ankle boots off, and she leaves it next to Doyoung’s ratty old sneakers. It looks so compatible, in a strange, surreal way. “I’ll just be in the kitchen, if that’s okay?”

“Of course,” Taeyong shuts the door, following her into the kitchen. He leaves the groceries on the table for her. “The bathroom’s the first door on the left, Doyoung’s in the first room is on the right. Uh,” he smiles gently, “I’ll go get changed, and I’ll be right back.”

“Okay!” Sejeong is already busy taking everything out of its bags. “I’ll be sure not to burn down the kitchen.”

Taeyong laughs politely before hightailing into his bedroom. Impassive, he changes out of his jeans for a clean pair, slipping on a sweater since the chill was still seeping into the apartment. He’s about to go back out when, _Should I check on Doyoung?_ There’s a bout of contemplation, _No, Sejeong’s here now, she’ll do it._

“How are things going?” Taeyong asks when he’s out again, standing by the kitchen counter.

“Nothing’s been really going over the past five minutes’ since you’ve left,” Sejeong jokes good-naturedly. Taeyong laughs courteously. “Relax! I’ll call you when it’s done, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong swallows. She’s wearing Doyoung’s stupid rabbit apron. “Yeah, of course, thank you, again.”

“It’s nothing,” Sejeong starts to wash the vegetables.

Beaten, Taeyong slinks back into his room. He pauses when he passes Doyoung’s, but thinks better of it. His bed looks inviting, but there’s no way he could fall asleep, not _now_. Settling at his desk, he wakes his laptop to put on some videos to watch. He’s about an hour into Criminal Minds when the door to Doyoung’s room squeaks open. A chill runs up his spine. Pausing the video, he jams his headphones in, but stops when he hears Doyoung from outside. His voice laced with sleep,

“Sejeong?”

“Good morning, sleepyhead!”

He titters, “W – ha, good morning? Uh, what are you doing here?” A correction, “In my apartment, I mean?”

“Made you breakfast!” She sounds so happy, _oh_. “Yuta texted me, told me you were – ”

“Yuta texted you?” Doyoung’s waking up now. “Wh – what – wait, how did you get in here?”

She doesn’t sound any bothered, “I bumped into Taeyong and he let me in here, and – ”

“Taeyong?” Doyoung interjects, and the name, _oh_ , his name! On Doyoung’s tongue! Will he ever tire of hearing it? Oh, it’s going to make him cry. His thumbs twiddle with the headphones, he shouldn’t be eavesdropping like this, “Where is he? Did he leave? Is he here?”

“He’s in his room,” Sejeong sounds worried. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Doyoung inhales sharply. “Yeah, yes, Sejeong, sorry, I just have – I’ll be back, okay? Give me a minute?”

“No, no, don’t worry! I cooked breakfast for Taeyong too, so we could all eat together!” Oh, she’s so nice, so terribly nice.

He hears Doyoung walk towards his room then. Fumbling, he shoves the earbuds into his ears and presses play. Someone is talking, but Taeyong pays no attention, waiting to catch Doyoung’s reflection on the screen of his laptop. He must’ve been knocking but Taeyong can’t hear, and he only turns when the door cracks open. Doyoung is staring at him, still clad in the clothes Taeyong put him in before he left last night. Pausing the show, he twists back around,

“Good morning.”

Doyoung slips into the room and he shuts the door. Taeyong is out of his seat instantly, suddenly aware of how small the room is becoming.

“You didn’t come back last night.”

The intoxication is gone, not like when he was screaming it over the phone. It’s glum, near despondent, and enough to form pressures at the back of Taeyong’s eyes.

“Why didn’t you come back?” Doyoung takes a step forward, and Taeyong takes one back. “I was – I was waiting for you, and then Youngho came by? I was waiting – where did you go?”

Taeyong is so tired of lying, “The lab.”

Doyoung shakes his head, catching him easily, “No, you were _here_. I touched you, Taeyong, I was drunk, not hallucinating. Where did you go? I was worried, and Youngho wouldn’t let me leave to go find you – ” his breath catches, “Said you were never here, but you _were_. You said you’d stay with me, where did you – why did you leave?”

Watching Doyoung try and piece things together is worse than watching a fish out of water. Taeyong shakes his head, “I – I just – ”

Doyoung’s voice drops to a whisper, “And you brought Sejeong home?”

_‘Home? We shouldn’t be leaving him with someone who can’t take care of him, Jaehyun!’_

Sejeong can. Sejeong can cook, and she makes Doyoung laugh, and she sings, and she loves art. Sejeong sounds a lot like home, Taeyong did not.

“I thought it would be best,” Taeyong straightens. There is no need for a talk if he relinquishes his wish to be with Doyoung. It’s really the only right thing to do. “I think she really likes you,” he tries to look excited, but it must’ve come out ridiculous because Doyoung is _livid_.

He crosses the distance to grab Taeyong roughly by the shoulders, eyes searching his face, “What are you _saying_?”

“I’m saying,” Taeyong shrugs him off easily, moving away so that he wouldn’t have to look at Doyoung. “I think it’s time we stopped – sleeping together.”

“You – ”

Taeyong starts to pack his things, shoving his notes into his bag. Another day at the lab it is, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea when you have Sejeong by your side, she – ”

“She’s means nothing – ”

“She’s outside cooking _breakfast_ for you, Doyoung,” Taeyong laughs. _Don’t get mad, don’t get mad. It’s not your place to get mad._ “Can’t you see that she’s good for you? She – ”

“What about you?”

Taeyong shuts his laptop, crouching low to find his hard drive, “What? This has nothing to do with me, I – ”

“You’re saying if I told you right now that I’m going to start dating her, you wouldn’t care?”

Taeyong wishes he wouldn’t, “No. I told you, you can date whoever you want.”

“You’re okay with that?”

 _No, no, no. If you ask me again, I’ll tell you everything, please,_ “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He’s not met with an answer, but the sound of his door slamming shut.

 

x

 

Taeyong buries himself in work. Everything is fine. He doesn’t see Doyoung anymore, because he never goes home. The lab is practically filled with his rubbish, and he knows it’s taking his interns everything in them not to report him to a professor. He takes his meals at the school’s cafeteria, and he sleeps at his desk. Going home to shower is more of a task, and he does it in the middle of the day, when he knows Doyoung is out filming or at practice. He doesn’t stay in the apartment for long, not when there’s a chance he might bump into Doyoung and Sejeong on a date. It’s no longer his right to say anything about it, because he gave them his blessing, after all.

It’s two weeks after, and when Taeil asks if he can _finally_ talk to Youngho about it, Taeyong still says no. There’s no reason to have more people talking about it, not when it was finally over. _Give me time_ , he pleads, _I’m still looking for an apartment_. He can’t live like this, like a rat in the sewers, trying to avoid the consequences of his own actions. There is no talk to Doyoung about him moving out, there is no talk at all. No texts, no calls, no post-its.

Still, he hears bits and pieces from Taeil. About how Doyoung is barely talking to Youngho either, and that Youngho thinks it’s because he didn’t let Doyoung leave the apartment when he was drunk. About how he sees Doyoung at Jenny’s a lot, with Yuta and Jaehyun, and of course, Sejeong. About how he’s seen on Instagram that Doyoung’s out partying almost every night. It doesn’t matter, it _shouldn’t_ matter. It has nothing to do with him, has never had nothing to do with him.

“Taeyong?” Minhyung is peering from his desk. “It’s, uh, nearly eight now, and the other interns and I are going for dinner, do you want anything?”

“Eight?” Taeyong echoes, eyeing the clock on the wall. “You guys should have left at seven! Why are you still here?”

“You looked a bit _lonely_ , so Minhyung said – ” Jihoon’s confession is cut short when Minhyung shoves him out of the room.

“Don’t listen to him,” the boy rushes to say, “I never said any of that, please – ”

“Relax, Minhyung,” Taeyong sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “You guys should leave, I can handle everything here.”

“Are you – ”

“Minhyung,” he says warningly, and the freshmen scampers out of the lab, dragging the other interns by the collars with him.

The lab is quiet without them arguing over hushed voices about who labelled what wrong, and who was going to get kicked out of the program without even picking up a scalpel. It’s quiet, and Taeyong is tired. The clock reads _8:13PM_ , and he can’t go home now. Doyoung might be home with Yuta and Jaehyun and Sejeong having a pregame. He could ask Taeil if he could crash on his couch, his back crying for a soft surface to sleep on, but he knows Taeil has been on edge recently too, since Youngho has a big pitch at work, and he’s trying his best to remain calm for them both.

Taking a nap at his desk is not a big deal, and it’s fine for him to wake up at _9:43PM_. What’s not okay, is trying to rub the sleepiness from his eyes when his contact lenses are persistently moving around. They fall out, naturally, and everything is a blur. Frustrated, Taeyong gets off his seat to feel his way to his bag. His hand accidentally sweeps across a row of test tubes, and he tries to catch it before they land on the ground. It’s not Taeyong if he doesn’t fall, so he does, and his arms shoot out to break it – on tiny shards of test tubes, cracked on the ground. The pain stings, but he doesn’t register it immediately. A blur of red on his forearms, just a tinge, and he hastily wipes it on his lab coat without thinking.

“Great,” he mutters, when he realises what he’s done. Groaning, he gets up to his feet to grab his bag. It definitely stings when he moves, but there’s no sprain or fracture, just the digs in his arms. He rummages around his bag gingerly, but he can’t find his glasses, having left it when he left home in a haste earlier. “Great,” he repeats. Inching back to his desk, he unlocks his phone, and calls Taeil.

“Hello?” It’s Youngho instead.

“Hey, it’s Taeyong, is Taeil there?”

His voice is hushed, “Hey. Er, no, he’s sleeping right now.”

 _At nine?_ “Oh.”

“Why? Is something wrong?” Youngho has always been caring.

“I, uh, I just hurt myself in the lab, it’s okay, I can call someone else – ”

“You’re hurt?” Youngho hesitates for a minute, probably torn between leaving Taeil alone at home and resisting his innate urge to help those in need. “Okay, I’ll come and get you, how about that? I can leave in like five minutes, Taeil just went to bed.”

He doesn’t want to bother Youngho, but who else was he going to call? He couldn’t call Doyoung, and he didn’t know anyone else who would come and get him, “Okay,” he sighs. “Sorry, Youngho, I wouldn’t call if I could get home on my own, but – ”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Youngho laughs. “I’ll be there soon, okay? I just have to get some things sorted out here at home.”

Taeyong is grateful, “Okay. I’ll make my way to the atrium, the one in the science building.”

“Alright, hang tight.”

Youngho ends the call before Taeyong can thank him again, and he thinks it’s for the best, lest he starts to spill about how sorry he was for causing him and Taeil so much trouble already. He packs his things slowly, trying his best to ignore the biting pain on his arms. It’s a different kind of tired, like he’s just _defeated_. Maybe he should really speed up to try and find a new apartment. There was a stack of flyers under his bed he had to get to, and if he wanted one close to the apartment, he would have to start going out on weekends to view them too. It would take a while, but it would be enough for him to properly say goodbye to Doyoung, if the latter would even allow that.

He leaves a note to his interns not to touch the mess and to be careful around it, that he would get to clearing it tomorrow morning.

With his impaired vision, making it out to the entrance of the building is even harder in the dark. Taking the steps one at the time, he practically crawls his way to the plastic seats, slinking heavily into it, relieved that he made it without tripping down the steps. He thinks maybe he should text Youngho for good measure, but he sighs, leaning back against the chair. It’s fine, he didn’t mind waiting a while longer. Five minutes turn into ten, and ten turns into fifteen, fifteen to twenty.

 

5DEC [22:08] **taeyong** : hey youngho  
5DEC [22:08] **taeyong** : are you on the way?  
5DEC [22:09] **youngho** : sorry taeyong but  
5DEC [22:10] **youngho** : i had to take care of taeil  
5DEC [22:10] **youngho** : i called doyoung to come get you, don’t worry

 

Doyoung? Doyoung was coming? _No. He wouldn’t come for me_.

The sound of a door slammed open.

“Taeyong?”

He looks up from his phone. An indistinct blob is by the stairwell, and Taeyong hopes, _oh,_ he hopes it’s Doyoung.

“Taeyong!”

It is undoubtedly Doyoung. He struggles to get to his feet when Doyoung’s purple hair comes into focus.

“Wha – what happened!” Doyoung skids to a stop in front of him. His hands reach out to touch Taeyong, but he pulls back, unsure. Taeyong looks at him helplessly, “Youngho called, he said he couldn’t come because Taeil fell from a _tree_ – ”

“He what?” Taeyong croaks.

 “ – and Youngho said you were _hurt_ ,” Doyoung’s brows knit tighter. “He said you couldn’t get home, Taeyong – is that blood? Is that _your_ blood?”

Taeyong follows Doyoung wide eyes to the stains on his coat, menial, but still there, “It’s nothing, I just broke a couple of test tubes, and I – ”

Doyoung drops his guard and takes Taeyong into his arms, strong and steady. Taeyong breathes in so deep, as if he was taking his last breath of air. He lets himself hug Doyoung back. It's been so long since he’s seen Doyoung, forget being touched. They went from being all over one another to ‘keep a five-mile radius from me’ in one night, and Taeyong would be daft to let a chance at hugging Doyoung slip from under him. Doyoung sinks into his hold, and Taeyong hears him sniff noisily.

“Sorry,” Taeyong mutters. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone.”

“Youngho said you got hurt, and,” Doyoung clutches onto him tighter. It’s not four in the morning, but he doesn’t care about the consequences, At least, not in this moment. “And I – I didn’t think, I just told the others I had to come down to get to you, and then I remembered you worked in a _lab_ , I – ”

“I’m a biologist, Doyoung,” it feels good to say his name again. “Not a mad scientist.”

Doyoung pulls away, and Taeyong wants to object, but his hands are on Taeyong’s face, and he thinks this might be better, “I _know_ , I know, I just – ”

“I’m fine,” Taeyong basks in the attention. “Don’t worry, you’re being – ”

It’s the clack of heels and the squeak of sneakers.

Doyoung flinches, and he jumps out of Taeyong’s arms, a knee-jerk reaction. Even from afar, Taeyong can make out three figures approaching them, and there’s no doubt in his mind who they were.

“There you are!” Yuta yells from across the hall. “Thanks for that Doyoung, we all got lost in the parking lot!”

Taeyong takes a step back when he sees that Jaehyun’s holding onto a bucket of popcorn, and so is Sejeong. She has a Big Gulp in her small hands, two straws stuck to the top. _Oh_. A double date? Doyoung must’ve heard the sound of Taeyong’s heart getting punctured because he’s turning back in an instant, eyes over-bright,

“It’s not – ”

“No thanks to how long it took for Jaehyun to finally get into that parking lot,” Yuta rolls his eyes, slowing down when they’re within good distance.

“Hey,” Jaehyun frowns. “I thought you said my parking was fine.”

“Of course, baby, it was perfect,” Yuta rolls his eyes, but he pecks Jaehyun on the cheek lovingly. Jaehyun narrows his eyes, but he smiles anyway.

Taeyong picks his bag up, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I called Taeil, I, uh, I didn’t know Youngho was going to call you guys.”

Doyoung tries to pacify the situation, “It’s okay, we – ”

“No, er,” Taeyong inches away, “I can make it home on my own, I don’t mean to interrupt your date, it’s – ”

Doyoung’s eyes flash, “It’s not a – ”

“Alright,” Yuta interjects, and he glares at Doyoung. “Let’s just send you guys home, okay? There’s no interrupting or whatever it is, let’s just go.”

He turns on his heels, and Jaehyun beckons for them to follow. Stupefied, Taeyong trails after them, Doyoung sticking close on his left,

“Taeyong, earlier, I – ”

Sejeong is walking quietly on Taeyong’s right, and he doesn’t want to talk to Doyoung, so he turns to her, “Hey, Sejeong.” The name is fire on his tongue. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your night like this.”

“No, it’s okay,” Sejeong smiles warmly at him, and she takes a sip from her drink. “We were just at the movies!”

“Taeyong…” Doyoung murmurs, but Taeyong shakes him off, walking closer to Sejeong.

“What were you guys watching?” Taeyong makes small talk. His vision is still hindered, but he can make out the grin on Sejeong’s face. “I hope I didn’t interrupt the movie, at least.”

“Don’t worry, you didn’t!” Jaehyun holds the door open for them and Taeyong walks through with Sejeong, leaving Doyoung behind. Yuta is leading the way, hands shoved into his pockets. “We were actually going back to the apartment for ice cream, so you made good time! Have you seen _IT?_ We were just going to sit around and talk about it actually.”

Taeyong hated horror movies. “No, I haven’t. What is it about?”

“Ah! But, are you going to watch it? I don’t want to spoil it for you!” Sejeong grins mischievously, and Taeyong thinks it’s a good look on her. She’s very attractive.

“I can’t find the car, Jae,” Yuta shouts from several paces ahead.

“It’s right there, babe,” Jaehyun yells from behind, but he speeds up to lead the way. It’s a small car, white and clean, with black leather seats. Taeyong hugs his bag close to his chest while Sejeong begins to explain the premise of the movie, a small town full of children or whatever. Doyoung is next to him again, vying for his attention, but Yuta steps in,

“Want to sit in front, Taeyong?” It’s the nicest thing Yuta has ever said to him, and there’s glint of empathy in his eyes. Taeyong doesn’t know what’s happened for him to deserve it so suddenly. “It’s a squeeze back there.”

“Yuta,” Jaehyun calls from the driver’s seat, voice low.

“Right,” Yuta snorts. “I forgot. He just started driving.”

Jaehyun is sheepish, “Sorry, I would just, uh, feel a lot more comfortable if Yuta sat up front with me.”

Taeyong shakes his head, “It’s okay, I can sit in the back, it’s nothing to worry about.”

“I’ll sit in the middle,” Sejeong offers.

Doyoung keeps pressing up against Taeyong, “I can sit in the middle – ”

“No way,” Sejeong laughs. “You’re too tall! Jaehyun won’t be able to see through the rear-view mirror with your big head in the way.”

“My big hea – ”

Taeyong climbs into the car before Doyoung can say anything else, motioning for Sejeong to slide into the seat next to him. Sejeong is much smaller than Taeyong is, and she fits well in the middle seat. Doyoung’s legs hit the back of Jaehyun’s seat and the latter groans. From such a close proximity, it’s much easier to study them, Taeyong thinks. He leans forward just as Jaehyun starts the engine, giving him directions to exit the parking lot. He watches Sejeong out of the corner of his eyes; she’s still going on about the movie (with Yuta answering periodically) but Taeyong’s already lost her in a midst of names and settings. Her shoulders are narrower than Taeyong’s and her waist must be smaller too. _She would look good in Doyoung’s clothes_ , he thinks impassively.

The ride starts to get noisy when Jaehyun turns onto the main road, because Yuta is expertly directing him back to the apartment, but Jaehyun is driving painfully slow. Sejeong is pointing out shortcuts, and Doyoung is waving her off, telling Yuta to tell Jaehyun to go the normal way home. _Must be nice_ , Taeyong thinks, _to have a group of friends like this_. He understands now, when Sejeong says she likes hanging out with them, because she fits in so perfectly, so seamlessly able to contribute to their conversations. He notices Yuta’s hand resting on Jaehyun’s thigh, _comfort_ , Taeyong smiles inwardly at the thought.

“ – huh, Taeyong?”

He blinks at the sound of his name, “Huh?”

Doyoung is staring at him from the other side of Sejeong, worried.

“I said,” Yuta looks over his shoulder. “Are you good if we stop by Target? We wanted to get ice cream earlier.”

“Yeah, sure,” Taeyong nods. His arms didn’t hurt anymore, maybe the bones were a little sore, but that was that. “There’s, uh, one close to the apartment.”

“The one I met you at?” Sejeong leans forward, “It’s like the next street, on the left.”

“You met at Target?” Doyoung is staring at him, but Sejeong answers,

“Yeah! The morning I made you guys breakfast,” she pauses to point the right street out, and Jaehyun hits the blinker. Taeyong looks at his shoes, illuminated by yellow street lights. _Oh, no_. “It was crazy. We met at like seven in the morning, didn’t we?”

Taeyong’s voice barely makes it past his lips, “Yeah.”

“You made them breakfast?” Yuta asks, and at the same time,

“Why were you at Target?” Doyoung questions, and at the same time,

“Is this the right turning?” Jaehyun worries.

Sejeong laughs, “Yes, this is it. On the right. And yes, Yuta, I made them breakfast,” she turns to Taeyong, “Taeyong… You were there buying… What was it?”

Taeyong stammers, “It was n – nothing, I was just – ”

“Yuzu syrup, was it?” Sejeong taps a finger on her chin, and Doyoung’s knee bangs into Jaehyun’s seat again.

The car jerks, and Yuta’s grip tightens on Jaehyun’s thigh. He turns to glare at Doyoung, “Get it together, Kim, I’m not letting you off if Jaehyun scratches his brand-new baby.”

“Sorry,” Doyoung says distractedly, trying to catch Taeyong’s attention, but Taeyong pointedly looks out the window.

“We’re here,” Sejeong announces royally, and the car is soaked in a red hue. Jaehyun parks easily in the empty parking lot, and Sejeong nudges Doyoung, “Get out, my legs are killing me.”

“We were in the car for literally five seconds,” Doyoung grumbles, but he gets out anyway. Taeyong opens the door on his side, carefully, leaving his bag in the backseat. He sticks close to Sejeong, asking her to continue her diligent explanation of the story, even though he barely understood a word she was saying. Doyoung is on his left, hand closed around his elbow. When Sejeong leaves to retrieve a cart, he glares up at Doyoung, _finally,_

“Stop holding onto me,” he snatches his arm back, peeved. He notices Yuta eyeing them from behind Jaehyun, so he laughs, strained, “I’m _fine_.” The tip of his sneakers catches onto the carpet, and he nearly stumbles. Doyoung grabs him by the waist, tight, no intention of letting go. Taeyong wriggles free, and he doesn’t have to look up to know that Doyoung’s giving him a loaded look.

“I want to talk to you,” Doyoung jogs to his side, and Taeyong ignores him, finding his way back to Sejeong, knowing Doyoung wouldn’t dare try anything with her around. “Taeyong, can’t you – ”

“Chocolate or vanilla, guys?” Sejeong calls out, and Taeyong speeds up.

“Is there green tea?” Taeyong asks, and Sejeong digs around the tubs of ice cream,

“Got one!” Sejeong is triumphant. “What about you, Doyoung? Want to share a chocolate?”

Doyoung shakes his head, “It’s alright, I’ll just take some of Taeyong’s.”

Sejeong hums happily, “More for me then.” She walks away to call for Jaehyun, and Taeyong follows, not wanting to be left alone with Doyoung. He spends the rest of the trip doing the same, and Doyoung is constantly on his heels. They get several other snacks, and drinks, and Taeyong sighs inwardly. It meant that they were going to be staying late tonight. By the time they (Sejeong, Yuta, Jaehyun, Doyoung) are done arguing which soda pop is the best soda pop, he (Taeyong) is exhausted. It was nice to be around them, like a close-knit family, but Taeyong stuck out like a sore thumb. Doyoung constantly trying to rope him into conversations were no help either.

The ride back is significantly quieter, and shorter, but parking takes a long time. Yuta guides Jaehyun through it all, and he manages to safely parallel park at the front of their apartment building. It’s nearly half to midnight by the time they all stumble into the apartment, and Doyoung seems to be the only one alert, ushering Yuta and Jaehyun and Sejeong to stay in the kitchen while he tells Taeyong to wait in his room while he got the first aid kit. Being back with Doyoung in the apartment feels like a dream, as if everything is back to normal, and Doyoung never suggested to _experiment_.

Of course, that is not the case. Every single feeling Taeyong’s ever felt for Doyoung is back in full force when the boy walks through the door with the first aid kit in hand.

“Sit down,” Doyoung instructs quietly, and Taeyong listens. No one was around to watch them, but Taeyong remained cautious. He didn’t want to force them into position that would make Doyoung up and flying when someone knocks on the door. Taeyong sits on the edge of his bed, and Doyoung does too, placing the kit on his lap. The first aid kit is not brand new, but it’s unused. Doyoung picks out antiseptic wipes and the ointment easily, and Taeyong holds out his arms. “It’s going to sting,” Doyoung tears the packaging, carefully pressing it into Taeyong’s bruises.

His legs jolt at the pain, and he kicks a pile of papers from under his bed.

The apartment flyers.

Doyoung is busy staring at his face to notice them starting to fall from under them, “Does it hurt?”

Taeyong kicks the papers back under, but some remain, “No. It’s fine.”

Doyoung cleans the wounds thoroughly, hands feather light on Taeyong’s arm. He applies the ointment quickly, and blows on it for it to dry. Taeyong’s heart pounds, but his mind his thinking harder at how to get everything out of sight before Doyoung sees them. He hasn’t had the chance to think of how to bring it up, how to say goodbye –

“What are those?”

The lid to the first aid kit is closed, and he shifts it to rest on Taeyong’s bed. Doyoung picks up the flyer with his thin fingers easily. Taeyong was still smarting it from earlier, but the look on Doyoung’s face says otherwise,

Taeyong speaks first, “I thought – I thought it would be better for me to leave you the apartment.”

Doyoung crushes the flyer, and he leaves without a word. The door to Taeyong’s room slams again, a painful sound, how many times has a door been slammed in his face? And it’s silent (sans the sound of his heart in his ears) before he hears Doyoung from the kitchen,

“You guys have to leave, Taeyong is really tired, he needs to rest.”

“What!” It’s Yuta. “Are you kidding me? We just got here – ”

“Out, out, out,” Doyoung insists. “Get out, I’ll pay you back for the ice cream and everything, you just have to go.”

“Doyoung, what – ”

“Out! Guys! Please!”

It’s the scraping of chairs and murmured goodbyes.

Taeyong holds his breath, waiting for Doyoung to come back. He wanted to talk. It was time to talk, they had to talk. There are too many thoughts, too many unanswered questions between them. But Doyoung doesn’t come back.

Worried that he might have left with them, Taeyong leaves his room,

to find Doyoung in his own, picking his clothes off the ground, and shoving it into a backpack.

“Doyoung? What are you – what are you doing?”

There is no answer, and Taeyong watches him scramble to unplug his charger from the wall, “Doyoung, about the apartment – ”

“You were going to _leave_ ,” Doyoung laughs brokenly, and he dumps his camera chargers into his bag. “You were going to move out, and what? You weren’t going to tell me? Let me find out when I’d come home to an empty apartment?”

Taeyong balls his hands into fists, “No, I was – ”

“I’m going to stay with my brother,” Doyoung doesn’t look at him. “I won’t come back for Christmas break either, so you can have the apartment to yourself since you want to move out so bad.”

“No,” Taeyong hasn’t had enough time to prepare. Doyoung can’t leave, “Why are you leaving, I haven’t – ”

“Because!” Doyoung swipes a shirt from his bed and Taeyong catches sight of the stupid pineapple. “I can’t do this anymore, okay! I don’t know what you’re thinking! One day, you want me, and then you _leave_ the next day, and you’re always saying I can go around and _fuck_ whoever I want – ”

“I never said that,” Taeyong’s blood boils. This was not his fault. This was absolutely not his fault. “I told you to go date Sejeong, because – ”

“Sejeong’s like a _brother_ to me!” Doyoung wrings the shirt in his hand, stuffing it into his overflowing bag. “Why do you want me to date her? _I_ don’t want to date her! I was hoping you’d say something when I asked, but you – you _didn’t._ Why didn’t you say anything?”

Taeyong fumes, “What are you talking about? What did you want me to say! I’m just looking out for you, why can’t you see – ”

“I don’t care,” Doyoung shrugs, clamouring to get his laptop. “I don’t care, I don’t care, I _don’t_ care!”

“Doyoung, you’re not making sense, you – ”

“I don’t care, I’m leaving,” Doyoung’s bag doesn’t close, but he hitches it over his shoulder anyway, urgently pushing past Taeyong. Exasperated, Taeyong yanks at his bag, and it falls over his shoulder, nearly everything spilling out. “I’ll send Yuta to get my things tomorrow, I – ”

“No, stop,” Taeyong jumps over the bag to tug at his shirt. “Let’s talk now, I’m –  _please –_ let’s _talk_ – ”

“Okay,” Doyoung seethes, “I want to know what your deal is.”

“What my _deal_ is?”

“Yeah,” Doyoung nods angrily. “What do you _want_? Because I can’t keep hoping you’d suddenly change your mind about us, not when you keep telling me to date other people, or telling me I can’t kiss you when I’ve obviously wanted to, or when _you’ve_ obviously wanted to, or when you keep avoiding me, never talking to me whenever you – ”

“You want to kiss me?” Taeyong’s heart stops.

Doyoung clamps his mouth shut.

“You never said that,” Taeyong breathes. “You never said you wanted to kiss me, you only said you wanted to experiment. That you wanted to – to touch me. Y – you brought home girls every night,” he pushes Doyoung away, hearing himself. “You never said you wanted to _kiss_ me. You want to kiss me?”

“You’re one to talk,” Doyoung bends down to pick his things up. “You meet with guys like they’re _meals_. I stopped talking to everyone remotely interested in me when I realised I liked _you_.”

“Doyoung, stop, wait, look at me,” Taeyong clambers to still his hands. Doyoung stares at him, reticent. He takes a deep breath, he needs to calm down. Everything needs to slow down a second, “I haven’t had a date since February.”

“You said – ”

“I know what I said,” Taeyong’s legs give away, and he sits down, amidst the pile of Doyoung’s belongings. “I say a lot of things I don’t mean.”

“February?” Doyoung echoes, but he doesn’t move closer.

Taeyong props his elbows onto his knees, and he hides behind his hands, “I’ve liked you since _then_ , Doyoung. And then you moved in, and you asked to _experiment_ with me, I – you have to understand that I’m equally as confused as you are.”

Doyoung is still. Taking in the information, Taeyong assumes.

He continues, breathing deeply, _calm down_ , “I’ve always wanted more when it comes to you, Doyoung. I don’t know,” he sighs into his hands, “What if I told you I liked you and you just went along with it because the sex was good?”

“I – ”

Taeyong barrels on, “And three weeks into dating, you’d realise that you didn’t like me all that much because I nag too much, or that we don’t have anything in common, or that I don’t click with your friends, who by the way,” Taeyong snorts, “hate me, if you haven’t already noticed.”

He sighs, “So, Sejeong – ”

“ _You_ told me – ”

“I know,” Taeyong groans. “I know, I know, I _know._ She’s so nice, and she came over to cook for you, and Yuta – he said you were so stressed that night, I didn’t even _know_ , Doyoung, we don’t talk, it’s just _sex_ between us, I never thought – how could you expect me to know?”

Doyoung sits down, “I didn’t expect you to know.”

“Your friends did,” Taeyong lets his hands fall away, but he keeps his eyes closed. It was easier this way. “They didn’t like me from the start, and you know that, they – ”

“That’s not it,” Doyoung says gently. “It was because I liked you.”

It causes a flicker in Taeyong’s nerves.

“I – I told them I didn’t know how to ask you out,” Doyoung sounds embarrassed. Taeyong doesn’t open his eyes to save them both. “And I thought I would ask you to – you know. And Yuta _hated_ the idea. Loathed it. Said I was playing with your feelings,” he admits quietly. “It’s not what I meant to do, you have to know, I just didn’t know how to get your attention. Yuta told me not to do it. Said if he ever met you, he’d be sure to tell you what I was up to.”

“Then he _did_ meet you. And he tried to get it out of me by roping Sejeong in,” Doyoung mutters. “And you said I could go and date whoever I wanted. So, I thought that it was the best I could do with you, I don’t know – how it works with another guy.” Doyoung exhales loudly. “If you’re worried about me, imagine how worried I am about _you_. You could pick any guy off the street, did you know that? Someone who could do better than me, more experienced that me,” his voice twists, and Taeyong feels faint. It’s not just about _that_ , Doyoung must know, “But I tried – I _tried_ , and that night, when I touched you, I thought you wanted something more too.”

Taeyong stays quiet.

“And then you left that night, and you brought Sejeong home in the morning, I was so confused – ” Doyoung sighs. “I thought – you wanted something more with me, I didn’t know why you kept _pushing_ me away, and you never came home after that. How was I supposed to know what you wanted? I didn’t even know if you wanted to see me today, but when Youngho called, I got so worried, I just – ”

There are tears under his eyelids, so Taeyong keeps them shut. His nose is starting to itch, and it’s starting to hurt with every breath. He whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” he hears Doyoung moves his bag out of the way. Taeyong waits for Doyoung’s hands to land on him, but they don’t. He caves, opening his eyes, and the tears he was trying to keep in escapes, sliding down his cheeks. “If you could give us another chance,” Doyoung starts. “I don’t want to play anymore games with you, I – ”

“Kiss me.”

Doyoung stops, “What?”

The tears are clinging to his jaw, “I don’t want to lie anymore. I – I’d do it myself, but I need to know. If you like me, come and kiss me.”

Doyoung’s drops the shirt in his hands, crawling forward to cradle Taeyong’s cheeks affectionately, “If I kiss you now, no more games?”

Taeyong tilts his head up to look at Doyoung, “No more games.”

“If I kiss you now,” his thumb is on Taeyong’s lip. Taeyong’s fingers dig into Doyoung’s waist. “You can’t push me away anymore. It means I like you, no one else, and you like me back, no more dates.”

Doyoung’s lips are too far. “I haven’t had a date since February, I told you.”

“If I kiss you now, will you be mine?”

Taeyong wets his lips in anticipation, “As long as you’ll have me.”

Doyoung’s lips are soft. It’s gone in the next second, and he’s met with Doyoung’s wide eyes again, and his stupid smile that takes up half his face. His lips are back on Taeyong’s in a heartbeat, once, twice, and Taeyong realises he’ll never have enough of Doyoung. It’s like fireworks are going off in his heart, but at the same time not. Everything’s inexplicably silent, like the moment between lightning and thunder; Doyoung kisses nothing like thunder. He kisses slow, languid, like the feeling of lazing under the sun, warm and _good_. It’s leaves Taeyong bare, like he’s giving all he can to the other, like there’s nothing more that’s between them, hindering them. Doyoung pulls away, and Taeyong pulls him back down, stealing Doyoung’s breath as easily as he takes Taeyong’s. He falls into a state of helplessness, sinking against the wall, kissing back meekly. Doyoung doesn’t press harder, and Taeyong doesn’t want him to,

“Let’s take it slow?”

Taeyong is nothing but glad that they’re finally on the same page, “Okay." He breathes,  _finally_. "Okay, let’s take it slow.”

 

**  
**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**EPILOGUE**

It’s always nerve-wrecking before a concert, but it’s nothing compared to today. With his boyfriend, _yes,_ sitting in the front row, looking equally nervous, all Doyoung wants to do is run down the stage, drag them both out of the concert hall and into some diner where they can pick up from where they left off that morning,

 

“Should we still call it twenty questions when we’re already way past that?” Taeyong had asked, snuggled comfortably in Doyoung’s arms. They were in Doyoung’s bed. It would’ve been easy for them to buy a new bed for them both and completely rearrange the apartment’s layout, but they’d decided to take things slow, wanting nothing more than to just appreciate the time they’d started to spend together. “We can’t even call it a hundred questions.”

“I can’t remember what you asked,” Doyoung replies, “If I liked boiled eggs? Did you just ask me that?”

“Yes,” Taeyong presses a kiss to Doyoung’s neck. It feels different than before too. It feels _right_. “It’s my specialty.”

He snorts, “Your speciality?”

“Yes,” Taeyong’s hands are splayed across his chest. He drums his fingers lightly. “I only make boiled eggs. And instant ramyeon.”

Doyoung laughs, and he dips down to kiss Taeyong properly on the lips, “Well, good thing those go well together, huh?”

“That’s a new way of looking at it,” Taeyong tilts up for another kiss. “Now, you. Ask me a question.”

“Okay. Will you come see me at the concert tonight?”

Taeyong laughs, “Should that even be considered a valid question?” He hugs Doyoung tight, and Doyoung feels his heart swell. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Just wanted to be sure.” Doyoung kisses his forehead. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Of course, you’ll see me tonight,” Taeyong laughs. “Now, ask me another question.”

    

He has a purple bouquet in his hands (“It’d be cute to match your hair, c’mon!”), and even from behind the curtains, Doyoung thinks he sees Youngho making fun of him. Taeil has flowers in his hands too, sitting between them, and he waves it in Youngho’s face. Youngho leans on Taeil’s shoulder, batting his lashes, and Doyoung wishes he could be down there with them instead.

“Ready?” Jaehyun is by his side, microphone in hand.

The nausea subsides when he spots Taeyong looking impatiently at the stage, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Good luck, you’re going to be great,” Jaehyun gives him a one-armed hug, shooing him on stage when the lights dim.

His eyes find Taeyong’s the moment the lights light the stage, and he’s not afraid to admit that he spends the entire song serenading him. It’s a revised version of an old Christmas song, and Taeyong’s blushing _so_ hard, Doyoung has to look away to calm his nerves, lest he makes a mistake. But of course, he doesn’t. He’s spent too long practicing to make any, and he looks back at Taeyong to find him _filming_ for once. It was always Doyoung behind the camera, and Taeyong hated technology, so to see that… It made him _happy_. The smile on his face grows, and Taeyong lowers the phone to smile at him too.

The number of people backstage is overflowing, but Doyoung doesn’t care, because he sees Taeyong make a beeline for him, nearly squishing the flowers in his attempt to get to Doyoung quick. It’s pure luck he’s tiny; Doyoung would pay good money to see Youngho try and get past a throng of people without accidentally tripping someone or stepping on their heads.

“You did great,” Taeyong says breathlessly, throwing his arms around Doyoung’s neck. The bouquet pricks at his ear, but he doesn’t care, inhaling Taeyong heavily. “You did _so_ great! You’re amazing, Doyoung.”

“Why, thank you,” Doyoung kisses Taeyong on the cheek before he can stop himself. Taeyong doesn’t seem bothered, pulling away to kiss him squarely on the lips in front of everyone.

“And you’re wearing the bowtie!” Taeyong exclaims gleefully, straightening the maroon coloured bowtie with green plaids. “Cute.”

Doyoung doesn’t admit that he chose it with this occasion in mind, “Did you like the song?”

“I loved it,” Taeyong kisses him again. Doyoung hears the veiled intention, a loophole to their efforts of taking things slow,

“I loved it too,” Doyoung grins, and Taeyong kisses him again. He’ll never get enough.

 

(From paces away, he hears Youngho, confused, “Wait. When did _that_ happen?”)

**Author's Note:**

> for the anon on my [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jenhyung) who wanted fwb dotae! (more like, yutae, but i hope this is okay in it's place)! partially inspired by [star blossom](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lpv-mkmddms) (sejeong and yuta are good people!!) let me know if you want to see more from this universe!! ♡
> 
> kudos + comments / criticisms are greatly appreciated ♡ feedback warmly welcomed! [twitter](https://twitter.com/jenhyungs) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jenhyung) | [more notes](https://jenhyung.tumblr.com)


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